


Being Engaged to Molly Hooper

by KendraPendragon



Series: Victorian!AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Pinch of Angst, F/M, Fluff, Longing, Romance, Sexual Tension, Sherlolly - Freeform, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock, Victorian!AU, feel-good fic, sexual curiosity, sherlock and molly being in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-05-19 01:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14864084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraPendragon/pseuds/KendraPendragon
Summary: Part II of my Victorian!AU.Follow Sherlock and Molly along their six-month engagement. They get to know each other better, fall in love with each other even more.The question is: Will they be able to keep their hands off each other?...Gosh, I hope not.





	1. My brave woman

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, as promised! Part II. Hope you like it. Thanks again to all your support. This is my baby and I love that you love it. :)

Thursday dinner at Mrs. Hooper's residence is the first in a line of very tiresome events to celebrate the engagement. Sherlock arrives with his parents as well as Mycroft and Anthea, dressed up and right on time. They are greeted by a maid and shown into the parlour, where the Hooper Clan await them; all women. While the greetings are exchanged, Mycroft steps close to his brother.   
"Not a particularly promising sign that the Hooper men all die an early death, apparently."  
Sherlock suppresses a smirk.  
"Well, she will be a Holmes."  
"I still suggest you inspect the food and drink she serves you closely. Just to make sure."  
Sherlock chuckles.  
"If anything," Anthea chimes in, having the ears of a tigress, as well, "it only proves that the female line of Hoopers is vital and strong."   
She gives her husband a meaningful look, but hooks her arm under his anyway, her fingers gently rubbing his arm. One of those small, elegant gestures Anthea uses to show her affection.   
Molly's mother greets them and begins the introduction.   
"Dorothy, may I introduce you to the groom. Sherlock, this is my sister, Mrs. Chilton."  
Sherlock bows and takes the offered hand, indicating a kiss.   
"Pleasure to meet you. And...where is my bride, if I may ask?"   
His heart skips a beat at the term.   
Mrs. Hooper fidgets with her hands. He's never seen her nervous before. An unpleasant coldness spreads in his guts.   
"Unfortunately, my daughter seems to be delayed. She went to lunch with a friend and hasn't returned yet."  
"And you haven't sent someone to get her?"  
Sherlock's tone is sharper than intended.   
"Of course I have. But it's not unusual for her to be unpunctual. She is quite a scatterbrain sometimes, I'm afraid. She's got that from her father."  
The Hooper women nod and smile at each other. Sherlock can't believe how calm they all are.  
"When have you sent your man out? Where was Molly supposed to meet her friend? When did she leave the house?"  
"Sherlock", comes his mother's warning voice, but he hardly registers it. His mind is racing. What if something happened to her? Molly has never been unpunctual when she was to meet him, or better said the Watsons. Surely she wouldn't be late for her own engagement dinner.   
  
...He needs information. He has to go find her.   
  
Just when he is about to grab Molly's mother and shake the information out of her does the front door bang open. Sherlock whirls around, his heartbeat stopped by the door, and holds his breath.   
Molly stumbles into the room, her hairstyle ruined, long strands of hair falling out of it. She doesn't wear a jacket, the first three buttons of her once white blouse are undone. Grime has stained it, ruined the cotton, most probably. There is grime on her face and neck, in her hair, on her dark blue skirt; everywhere. But what makes the women in the room gasp and press their hands to their hearts is the blood. On her hands and on her blouse, mixing with the grime to a dark, sticky matter.   
Her chest is heaving, she is sweating, her eyes huge and almost wild.   
"So - sorry - fire - huge fire - near Oxford Street -" she gestures East with her bloody hand, trying to catch her breath, "Meena needed help - couldn't leave her - so many people -"  
With a loud gasp she presses her hands on her knees, gives up speaking and concentrates on catching her breath.   
Sherlock's entire body is trembling by now, a storm of emotions raging inside him. More than anything he needs to touch her, to feel that she is here and well and safe. So he hurries to her with long strides, everyone else in the room and the rest of the world forgotten. As Molly sees him approach she straightens; just in time to have him palm her face and crush his lips to hers. Her lips are hot and bits of grime are sticking to it. He only tastes this, but he needs to taste _her_ ; so badly. Tightening his grip he forces her lips apart and pushes his tongue into her mouth. There. Molly. All Molly. Sweet, sensual, delicious Molly. With a breathless little gasp she strokes her tongue against his in greeting, reassuring him that she is fine. But then she pushes him away, the need for air too imminent to be denied.   
"Molly", he breathes desperately and presses his forehead against hers for a second, trying to smell the jasmine underneath the smells of fire and blood, but without success.   
"Sherlock, it was amazing. The fire. It was so powerful, the flames whipping, licking, devouring the building. So incredibly fast, mercilessly."  
"The blood, Molly. Is it yours?"  
She blinks at him, then she raises her hands to inspect them, as if she just now discovered that she is soiled in blood.  
"No, no. I helped Meena. She's a nurse. The fire brigade was there as well as paramedics. But there were a lot of civilians helping, too, just like me. We pulled people out of the building together. So many people helped! It was incredible, I felt so strong and fearless with them, all helping each other, saving each other. I helped Meena save a man who had jumped, skull fracture, bled like hell. Meena showed me where to press and where the blood needed to exit to not pressure the brain. Oh, Sherlock, it was all so fascinating. I looked him in the eyes, he was so frightened, poor man, while Meena and the doctor worked on him. I talked to him, although for the life of me I can't recall what about, and I stroke his cheek and held his hand. He held so tight...But they saved him. They managed to get him to the hospital. I hope he will survive. He thanked me and held my hand until he was loaded onto the carriage. We saved everyone, Sherlock. Not one soul was lost today. All because people worked together. I've never felt so connected with my fellow human beings. Such a powerful connection."  
"Molly", is all he can reply to that, tears stinging in his eyes. Over and over does he stroke through her hair and when she's finished and just looks at him with sparkling eyes in that dirty face, he pulls her into a tight hug, wishing nothing more than to keep her safe from harm.  
"Oh, oh Sherlock, no."  
Suddenly, Molly pushes him away.   
"Your clothes! Oh no, your suit jacket. I ruined it."  
Sherlock laughs. His strong, silly Molly, worring about all the wrong things. Once again he bends down to kiss her, but freezes when he hears Mycroft clearing his throat behind him. This sound is so familiar and so despised it shakes him out of his lost state and catapults him back to reality.   
  
Right.   
  
Dinner at Molly's house. The Holmes and Hooper Clan together. In the very same room where he has just now hugged and french kissed Molly. Bit not good.   
"Molly, dear, you should probably...take a bath and change."  
Mrs. Hooper is standing next to them now and pulls her out of his arms, slowly but determined.   
"Oh, yes. I'm so sorry, mother."  
"It's all right. Just hurry, will you?"  
Molly nods and with a small smile at Sherlock and an apology to their guests she rushes up the stairs to her room. When the door falls close, everything falls silent in the parlour. Sherlock tries very hard not to look at anyone. Instead he takes his handkerchief out of his pocket and discreetly tries to rub off the grime and blood stainging his suit jacket.   
"Drinks, everyone? I'm afraid dinner will have to wait a little longer."  
While they wait, Sherlock remains by the open door to the parlour. It's the closest he can be to his brave fire fighter/nurse/bride at this moment.   
Almost half an hour later, he hears Molly hurry down the stairs again. She has changed into a green and black evening dress with short sleeves and a simple, matching choker and ear rings. The hairstyle is a simple updo without decoration; surely due to the time pressure. But to him she looks beautiful, anyway, and his heart beats excitedly as he steps out of the room to wait for her. He offers her his arm and she takes it with a smile, resting her cheek against his shoulder for only a second before he leads her into the parlour.   
"Mr. Holmes, Mrs. Holmes, please forgive me for keeping you waiting for so long."  
"It's all right, my dear. But I insist to hear the complete story over dinner. It's sounds quite thrilling."  
Sherlock smirks. His mother has just the same adventurous spirit as him.   
"Shall we go through?" Mrs. Hooper suggests and with an inviting gesture leads the way to the dining room.

~oOo~

Of course Mrs. Hooper wouldn't seat them next to each other. Still, Sherlock is disappointed. His fingertips itch for her, but he sits across from her three chairs down and only gets to look at her profile as she gives a full report of the dreadful event. After a few shocked gasps she stops telling the gory details of the smell of burning hair and the sight of burnt flesh. It is the first time Sherlock's family hears her speak for so long. Usually, talking for more than ten minutes, being the centre of attention, would nothing but be a horror to her, but Molly is so caught up in her story that she forgets her anxieties.   
When she finally ends her tale, praise from all corners echoes through the dining room. Now Molly blushes, shrinking back into herself, and shyly looks around, her eyes finding Sherlock's. With a look he tells her how proud he is of her and by the way she lights up he can tell she understood.

It takes almost two hours before they return to the parlour and Sherlock can approach her, take her hand in his for a moment.   
"You're unbelievable", he says lowly.   
"Are you angry with me? I was really careful and only in little danger."  
Sherlock shakes his head and presses the beloved hand against his heart.  
"You did what you had to do. You are brave and strong. I admire you, Molly Hooper."  
She blushes.  
"You've done much braver things, Sherlock."  
"No, I haven't. You've run into a burning, dying building to save people you do not even know."  
"There were many brave people. They took the fear away."  
Obviously, he won't win against her modesty, so Sherlock gives up with a smile and presses a tender kiss to her knuckles.   
"My brave woman", he says with nothing but adoration in his voice, making her smile. They look into each other's eyes, holding onto each other, until Mrs. Hooper calls for them. Sherlock rolls his eyes. Molly giggles under her breath, pulling her hand out of his. She slips it around his arms and tugs at him. Sherlock smiles down at her, his hand coming to rest on top of hers, then he leads her to the group to answer countless questions of his work as well as how they met, etc. He does most of the tiresome talking now, proving everyone that he can handle these tedious social situations. With Molly by his side, it's much easier. The weight of her arm and the warmth of her hand ground and steady him. And every little glance, every touch and every smile from her makes this evening worthwile. He is sorry when they leave and Sherlock can't wait for when he doesn't have to do this anymore; leaving her.

  
They stand at the open front door. Sherlock lingers, just like Molly, waiting for the rest of the Holmes' to clear out, hoping for one moment of privacy. Mrs. Hooper is holding the door open, complimenting his mother, turning her back to the lovers. Sherlock can see it's their only chance. After the liberties he has taken tonight, he is certain that she will not allow a kiss goodbye. So he attempts to steal this kiss now, taking Molly's hand and bending down to her, his heart beating fast-  
"Goodnight, Mr. Holmes."  
Oh, that soddig woman. Molly looks at him apologetically before she pulls her hand away and takes a step back. With an inward sigh Sherlock straightens.   
"Goodnight, Mrs. Hooper. Thank you for a pleasant evening."  
Mrs. Hooper only gives him one of her cold looks. She is standing half in front of her daughter as if to shield her from any more of his advances.   
"Molly", Sherlock says warmly, nonetheless, and smiles at her as he puts on his hat and taps it before he turns to leave. He closes the door behind him and walks down the stairs, his heart already filling with longing again, being all dramatic. Sherlock disapproves. It's not like him. He's not sentimental. And it's only a few hours before he will see her again. For goodness sake, he's not 18 anymore, when he had no control over his emotions. He's a grown man, a man of cool logic. His heart should be stronger; but he's used it so rarely. Maybe this is the problem. Maybe he will have better control of his emotions in a few weeks. Yes, most probably he will. Tearing his eyes away from her house, Sherlock walks the few feet to the carriage, already filled with the members of his family.   
He only hears the sound of his feet on the pavement. These few steps feel utterly lonely and he scolds his heart for this nonesense.  
Finally, he reaches the carriage, Mycroft and his mother looking at him expectantly. When Mycroft unhinges the door and opens it for him, Sherlock doesn't hear that another door opens. He is waiting for Mycroft to shift and is just putting his foot on the fold-out ladder when he hears hurrying footsteps.   
"Get in", his mother says impatiently, but he turns his head.

Molly.   
  
Running towards him.  
  
His heart leaps.   
  
"Molly", he breathes and without a second thought he runs towards her, the carriage and his family forgotten.   
Her smile ignites his own and her cheeky little giggle right before she throws herself into his arms sets his body on fire. Instantly Molly claims his lips, her arms slinging around his neck, and Sherlock pulls her against him, lifting her off her feet. He drowns in this heavenly kiss, her velvety tongue deep in his mouth curling his toes and setting his skin aflame.   
_This kiss wasn't long enough_ , he complains inwardly when she pulls away from him. Still smiling, her face still so wonderfully close he can feel her warmth and smell her skin, she brushes her pixie nose against his.   
"You forgot to kiss me goodnight, Mr. Holmes."  
A shudder runs through him as her lips brush against his, her breath so hot on his mouth. "How forgetful of me. Please forgive me."  
"Only this once, Mr. Holmes. From now on, every time you leave me. Promise."  
"I promise", he breathes and closes the distance to kiss her once more, slowly, deeply, telling her this way how sorry he is that he does have to leave.  
"I love you", she whispers against his lips, the kiss not even over. It makes him chuckle and peck her lips one last time.  
"I love you, too, my darling. Can I call on you tomorrow?"  
"I'd be disappointed if you wouldn't."  
"Goodnight", he whispers lowly and looks deep into her eyes, conveying all the longing his stupid heart feels.   
"Goodnight", she whispers and her fingers slide through his hair in the nape of his neck, then Sherlock finally puts her feet back onto the pavement.   
He holds onto her hand as long as possible, looking at her flushed cheeks and her beautiful smile.  
Even though there are four people waiting for him, he watches her walk back to the house, up the stairs and - with one last look at him - slipping through the ajar door.  
When the door closes, his eyes fall close.   
  
_Good God, how much I love you_  
  
  


All eyes are on him when he finally takes his place in the carriage, folds in the ladder and shuts the door. Mycroft taps against the small window next to him and the carriage starts rattling down the street.   
Sherlock, sitting across from his mother, sees her mocking grin even in the darkness, only the gas lamps on the street providing light.   
"What?" he finally asks. Surely, he won't apologize for making them wait for a minute.  
"You are completely smitten with her", his mother says excitedly.   
"Well, I wouldn't marry her if I wouldn't feel for her."  
"You are head over heels!"  
Sherlock shifts in his seat. Better to say nothing, he tells himself.   
"I have to be honest with you, boys, I thought I did something wrong raising you."  
Mycroft stiffens, Sherlock can feel it.  
"So cold, both of you, despising every natural feeling. For years I thought you couldn't feel anything at all, Mike, while Sherlock seemed to feel everything at once, driving him to the edge of madness."  
Now Sherlock stiffens, too. This certainly is not the time to discuss this. Or ever, for that matter. Both brothers know that their mother always felt that there was something wrong with them. This is the first time she admits that she felt responsible for the way her children are. It shakes both Mycroft and Sherlock to the core, having felt wrong and unwanted many, many times during their childhood.   
"But here you are, alive, healthy...normal. It makes me so incredibly glad to see you both so happy; so desperately in love."  
"I wouldn't say _desperately_ ", Mycroft says, clearing his throat.  
"Oh, wouldn't you?" Anthea replies and withdraws her hand.   
Sherlock smirks, which of course his brother senses. At the next rattle he presses Sherlock roughly against the window. Sherlock pushes right back.  
"Boys!"   
That's all it takes to stop them. The rest of the drive is silent and when Sherlock is dropped off at Baker Street, he wishes his brother a good night in the guest bed.  
"You haven't slept in it for quite some time. Three months?"  
"Goodnight, brother."  
Mycroft slams the door shut and the carriage rattles away.   
  
Oh, that was fun.   
  
Almost as much fun as kissing Molly.   
  
But not quite.

 


	2. The first outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly on their first walk as a betrothed couple.

As promised, Sherlock calls on Molly the very next day. Ignoring her mother's glare (why does she always have to be around?! They're engaged, for heaven's sake), he takes her arm and leads her out of the house. As soon as they're down the stairs and the door is shut, Sherlock relaxes and the lovers smile at each other as they walk down the street.   
"How did you sleep?" Molly asks into the comfortable silence.  
"Better than Mycroft, I'm sure."  
With utmost pleasure Sherlock gives a short report of the carriage ride home.   
"Poor Mycroft", Molly giggles.   
"He should have known better."  
"Do you know better?"  
Her look is doubtful and mischievious.   
"I kept my mouth shut, didn't I?"   
She giggles and leans in closer, curling her free hand around his upper arm. Her warmth seeps through his clothes and contentment spreads inside him, making his body feel lighter, somehow.   
"Tell me more about yesterday. The head wound; did you see the brain?"  
"No, unfortunately not. But the white of his skull underneath the hair and skin."  
With him, Molly doesn't have to be delicate, reserved or even proper. He knows she has a scientific mind with a special interest in medicine. She wanted to become a nurse, but her social rank would have made it a scandal, or at least highly improper. Furthermore, her mother was strictly against it. And so Molly was prevented from persuing her dream. Well, society is at fault, really. But this is something neither of them can change in their lifetime, unfortunately.   
  
Even though Molly can't be a nurse - or a doctor - that doesn't mean she can't study. Watson is her partner in crime in this regard. He provides her with books and answers every question of hers, if he can...or wants to.   
Sherlock fondly recalls a heated discussion between them, Watson refusing to explain the exact functions of her body and Molly not understanding why. For two hours straight she relentlessly pressed for information, making the good doctor blush a dozen times. If Mary had been there, she would have gotten the information, for sure. But it was right after Rosie's birth - the reason for the questions - and Watson stubbornly refused to explain all the details of the female cycle, pregnancy and child birth.   
"This is outrageous!" Molly shouted in the end, "That you know more about my body than myself. It's simply not right! You should be obligated to provide this information!"  
An angry monologue about sexism and oppression of female sexuality had followed. Watson - being married long enough - hadn't said anything anymore and in the end, Molly had thrown her hands in the air, given a frustrated outcry and stormed out.   
Sherlock had fallen even more in love with her that day, he knows now.  
He listens to her description of burnt flesh with interest, her observant eye noticing so many details. He shares what he has read about burns and she compares it to her real-life experience. A most fruitful discussion, which is interrupted when she suddenly halts.  
"Oh."  
Sherlock stops and looks at her.  
"Everything all right?"  
"Yes, only..."  
"What?"  
She looks at him, a little frown on her face, then the crease between her brows disappears and she laughs.   
"You led us to Baker Street, Sherlock."  
"Oh", he echoes, looking up at his building. "This was completely accidental."  
He feels a blush creep up his cheeks, but Molly's cheeky smile relaxes him.  
"A brilliant mind like yours doesn't have accidents, Mr. Holmes."  
He smiles at her.   
"Care for a piece of cake before I take you home?" he nods at Speedwell's.  
For a second, disappointment flickers in her eyes.   
_Soon, my darling_ , he tells her with his.   
"Sounds lovely", she says in the end and leads her inside the café.

It's the first time they share a meal only the two of them and in public, and it feels special for both. Sherlock is so ridiculously proud to be seen with her alone, their engagement having been announced in the papers. She is his fiancée, his bride.

_His_.  
  
When he pays for them, he notices out of the corners of his eyes how she blushes and looks at her hands, smiling. He asks her about it as they stroll down the street arm in arm.  
"Oh, I...well, it's just that it's been our first outing as an engaged couple and, I don't know, I felt it so much when you paid for me. It's silly, as usual."  
She tries to shake off her embarrassement with a laugh.   
"It's not silly. To be out with only you, to have you on my arm walking down the street; it's a memorable day for me, as well."  
For a second, she leans her cheek against his shoulder. He covers her hand with his. They say nothing for the rest of the walk home, both content and happy. Their steps slow when they enter Molly's street and she rests her cheek against his shoulder again.   
"May I call on you tomorrow?" he asks her, the imminent separation weighing on his heart.   
"I won't be home. I'll teach the girls in the morning and afterwards Meena will pick me up at the gallery for lunch and a concert later that afternoon. She bought the tickets a month ago."  
Molly teaches art to the next generation of accomplished, fashionable women at a family friend's gallery. Every Saturday, in fact. He knows that, of course. He's just forgotten what day it is.   
"I see. May I call on Monday?"  
Mrs. Hooper doesn't appreciate visitors on Sundays.   
"...Of course."  
She sounds so disappointed, bless her. He is, too. So, as they pass the small alley between the buildings, he takes a quick look around and pulls Molly into it. They are not very secluded, but it is better than in the middle of the street.   
"Since I miss out on two goodnight kisses, I think I should give them to you in advance. After all, I promised."  
Molly's face lights up and, after a look to the street, slips her arms into his open coat, pressing herself against him. Sherlock's lips part, a pleasant shudder rushing through him. She is so pleasantly warm, his bride.  
"I'm very glad you take it so seriously, Mr. Holmes."  
"Naturally."  
They grin at each other, then Sherlock's smile vanishes as he lowers his head to hers - and their hats clonk together. The sound makes them laugh and Sherlock quickly takes his off and lowers his head to hers, once more. His heart leaps when her warm lips softly brush over his. Once again it is her who opens her mouth first and her tongue that slips past his lips. His free hand grips her upper arm, not to push her away but to pull her closer; and anchoring him to her. Their tongues gently slide against each other, tease and caress in equal measure. Sherlock's head is spinning within a few seconds and he breaks the kiss to catch his breath.  
"This is one", he whispers and captures her mouth for the second kiss, this time not letting her dazzle him, instead pushing his tongue into her mouth. The little sigh which erupts from her weakens his knees, anyway. His hand slides into her neck and his fingers into her silky hair. This kiss is deep and full of longing. He should not kiss her like this in broad daylight, but he can't help himself, strokes her tongue tenderly with his own, tasting her over and over again. In the far back of his clouded mind he feels Molly's nails dig into his back. A second later she breaks the kiss, gasping for air.   
"Jesus, Sherlock. You can't kiss me like this during the day", she voices his thoughts with heavy eyelids, her hands sliding down his back to slide up his chest. She takes a tight hold of the lapels of his suit jacket and stares at his lips.   
"All evidence points to the opposite, Molly", Sherlock replies huskily, his thumb wandering along her jaw.   
"Please, have mercy on me, or I won't sleep for three days. I'm not like you. I need my sleep or I turn into a horrid shrew."  
"That's hard to believe", he smiles.   
"It's true. I hope you'll never see me like this...once we're married. My mother can confirm that I'm unbearable when sleep deprived. You have been warned."  
He chuckles, leaning closer, his fingertips lightly stroking down her throat.  
"I think it's inevitable to witness the transformation, for you certainly won't get much sleep during the first weeks of our marriage."  
He has spoken slowly, in a low voice, knowing very well that his voice has an effect on her. It's always different, though. Today, her eyes widen and she noticeably shudders in his arms.   
"You are a cruel man, Sherlock Holmes."  
Her desperate whisper is just as seductive as her kiss and he has to force his brain to remember where they are in order to not kiss her until she begs him to claim her.   
"I don't see why you would accuse me so, Miss Hooper, for I only meant that you will have to get accustomed to your new home, the new bed, and possibly my midnight-violin-playing. Shame who thinks of a lewd innuendo."  
"Oh, shut up and kiss me, you horrible man."  
His chuckle is muffled by her mouth. She kisses him hungrily, forcing his mouth open and spearing her tongue inside, claiming his with one determined lick, and this hunger is about to infect him, which he knows mustn't happen or they both will be lost. So he palms her face with both hands and pulls her away from him.   
"Don't, Molly. You know I'm not strong enough to resist you. Please, have mercy on me."  
"I'm sorry", she breathes and lowers her eyes. It's a sting in his heart.  
"Don't apologise. I love you, all of you. Your sensuality is beautiful, wonderful, enticing, and I can't wait until we don't have to hold back anymore, when I can explore its depths and all its facets."  
"Me, too", she breathes and even this is nearly making him come undone.  
"Lets both try to act a little more...decent, although I despise the word."   
She giggles and closes her eyes for a moment.   
"I'll try to control my...un-virginal urges."  
Sherlock bursts into a laugh.   
"I love you", he whispers and kisses her tenderly, only the tip of his tongue entering her mouth to play; cherishingly slow.   
"I love you, too, Sherlock."  
They hold each other for a moment, then they return to the street and Sherlock walks her to her house.   
"Until Monday, then...Molly mine."  
She blushes sweetly at this term of endearment and her eyes shine with love.  
"Until Monday...my Sherlock."  
His heart flutters in his chest. Tapping his hat he says goodbye, waiting for her to enter the house before he leaves, a big fat grin on his face.

With a spring in his step he walks home looking like a lovestruck fool.

He doesn't give a damn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm not sure if doctors were legally obliged to give all the information. Since Molly wasn't technically his patient, I could imagine that in this case Doc Watson didn't have to tell her anything. Anyway, hope you don't mind taking some liberties with the historical accuracy in this case.


	3. Raven hair and bloody hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eurus

Monday comes infinately too slowly; and is over way too quickly. During the following weeks he spends as much time with Molly as possible. This new ease in their conversation is most pleasant and enjoyable. He loves conversing with her about everything and nothing. A closeness develops between them which is unmatched to everything else Sherlock has experienced before. He revels in it, opens up to her about topics he has always shut away deep in his heart. For the first time ever he talks about his childhood, the relationships with his parents and his brother; even Eurus.

It's on one of their walks he talks about his sister, the day particularly lovely, helping to keep the shadows at bay.   
"I was afraid of her. We all were. She was...cold. I believe she wasn't able to feel...anything. We tried to understand her; and she tried to understand us. It felt like living with an unknown species. We experimented on each other..."  
Sherlock shudders as he hears his own screams inside his head and the sharp pain in his chest.  
"She...she wanted to cut me open; see what's inside. She was fascinated with blood. My blood. She only cut me."  
Molly's grip around him tightens and she leans her head against his arm.   
"I wanted to cut her open, too, but she told me she didn't bleed...that she wasn't like me. I think she was right about that. Eurus was unique. And her uniqueness made her lonely. I tried to be there for her, let her cut me, hoping she would feel that I cared for her, that we all cared. But I don't think she understood what caring meant...when mother found out what she did to me she was sent to an asylum. She died there a few years ago...all alone."  
"Oh, darling..."  
Molly halts and closes the distance between them. She cups his face with her hands and brushes her thumbs over his cheeks. Only now does Sherlock realise that he is crying. Her eyes are wet, too. She gives him no 'I'm sorry', no encouragement, no smile. Molly only looks at him; sees him. His pain. His sorrow. This guilt he feels for letting his baby sister be taken away to protect him from her.   
"She wasn't cruel. She didn't do it to hurt me, she just wanted to learn. She didn't understand why I screamed. She didn't know pain because she didn't feel any. She felt nothing. It wasn't her fault...I never told her to stop. Not once..."  
"You were so brave for your little sister. You wanted to help her understand", Molly whispers, a sob finishing the sentence. His bottom lips trembles and he nods, more tears falling.   
"She was fascinating. Brilliant. She made me laugh because she liked the sound, she said. I tried to make her laugh, too; but she never did, no matter how hard I tried. I so wanted to hear her laugh, I still wonder what it would have sounded like. Her voice was...special. Beautiful. As was the rest of her. She was...etheral. I believed she was an angel, fallen from heaven, her wings burnt off, trapped on Earth."  
Eurus' beautiful, emotionless face hovered in front of him, staring back at him with her icy blue eyes, her pale skin and her long raven hair. He had loved her so much, despite it all. He had stepped in front of her when her mother discovered them, his arm cut open, bleeding onto the carpet. He had wanted to protect her, to hold on to her when his mother had fallen into hysterics, but she had pulled Eurus away from him, struck her with her hand. Sherlock had screamed, had felt the pain as if it had been him. He tried to stop it all, to protect Eurus.  
"Again and again I screamed 'she doesn't understand', 'she doesn't understand'."   
He squeezes his eyes shut, his scream still echoing within his soul.   
"I tried to hang on to her, my bloody hand clawed into her white dress, the other holding hers. Eurus said nothing. She was so silent, her blue eyes still empty and observant. She watched me as she would an actor on a stage, as if she was not a part of this."  
A sob erupts from his throat, the memories bringing so much pain; he can't contain it all.  
"But her hands", he whispers shakily and he looks at his own, his right one bloody as it was all these years ago, "her hands held mine so tight. She was silent but she tried to hold on to me when our parents separated us, her eyes fixed on mine as if I was the only thing in the room, the world, that was worth looking at...and I let her go. I couldn't hold on. I wasn't strong enough."  
This is the moment Molly pulls him into her arms and he presses her against him, clings to her and buries his head in her neck. For the first time since he was a boy he cries for Eurus, his little darling sister, his tragic fallen angel. And Molly is so strong, so strong. She holds him, shields him with her warmth, lets him weep; and weeps with him. She knows what loss is, knows this aching shadow on your heart that settles on it heavily when someone you love dies; it never goes away.   
Sherlock is not alone in his sadness. Like a rock she stands tall, for him to cling to as the wild waves clash over his head, trying to pull him under water and into the dark abyss.

Once again, Molly Hooper saves him.

When the tears finally stop pouring out of him, some of the pain is gone, too. The empty face of his sister slowly sinks into the dark water, returning to her cave deep within his soul, where she rests her head in her arms for a peaceful slumber.   
Sherlock opens his eyes, the bright yellow of the sun painful. He inhales Molly's scent, fills himself with her fragrance to soothe his nerves. The skin on her neck is wet from his tears and he tries to kiss it dry. He's only a bit ashamed, not for sharing his story with her, but for crying in front of her. Men don't cry; one of the many lessons of his boyhood.  
"Forgive me", he whispers against her ear and kisses the soft skin right below her earlobe. Instantly her hands pull at his coat to make him look at her. Her eyes are red, as he feels his are. Tenderly she strokes his cheek, oh so tenderly, shaking his head.  
"There is nothing to forgive. If possible, I love you even more. Thank you for sharing this with me...my darling, my heart...my Sherlock."  
His eyes fall close, the tenderness of her words filling his chest with warmth.  
"Molly mine", he breathes and blindly leans down. Her lips find his for a loving kiss. She weaves her fingers through the hair in the nape of his neck and he smiles against her lips.   
  
"Do I look presentable?" he asks, his heart surprisingly light and...free. Molly laughs and pulls her handkerchief out of her skirt pocket. Smiling shyly, she wipes first his left, then his right cheek, then she covers his nose with the soft, clean smelling cotton.  
"Blow."  
Sherlock's eyes widen, for a split second thinking she is serious. Then he sees the mischievious spark in those soft brown eyes. With a chuckle he pulls the handkerchief and her hand away from him, hooking it back under his arm, continuing their walk.   
"I might cry in front of you, Miss Hooper, but I will never let you blow my nose."  
She laughs and leans against him.  
"Never say never", she retorts cheekily and for the rest of the walk they discuss circumstances in which it would be compulsary for him letting her blow his nose. At her door, Molly gives him an exceptionally tender kiss that reaches the depths of his soul.

  
He is not alone. He never will be again. She will be there.

His rock, his saviour, his protector.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My depiction of Eurus in Victorian times. The most fascinating thing about Eurus is her incomprehension of human emotion. For me at least. I took it and went a little wild with it. Sorry about the dark back story. Promise it will be lighter in the following chapters. :)


	4. Selene and her Endymion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is working a frustrating case. John invites him to a night cap. Molly is there and like a cat, Sherlock demands comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my fav chapters. Fluff, fluff, all the steamy fluff.

During the second month of his engagement, Sherlock takes on a case. Molly practically forces him to, telling him his work is too important, that instead of idling and galavanting around town he should make this town safer. At first, he feels offended and hurt, for the last weeks have been the happiest of his life. He loves galavanting around town with his Molly. He loves spending quiet hours with her, doing nothing else but talking, or sometimes just sitting on a bench in the park, saying nothing, holding hands, hiding their interlaced fingers between their thighs. It's wonderful and he is so very disappointed that apparently she doesn't enjoy it as much as he does.  
  
Molly sees the hurt look on his face and hurries to ensure him that she loves spending time with him more than anything. But Sherlock pouts, and he finds out that this is a soft spot for her. It's never been before, but now she rains countless kisses on his face and lips, whispering reassuring words of love. She is so very sorry, and he selfishly uses it to get more kisses and more of her. Things spiral out of control within minutes, ending with Sherlock marking his Molly for the third time; in his mother's library, leaning against a book shelf behind the door. Absolutely irresponsible. Molly is horribly embarrassed, her cheeks flushed and her breathing irregular from her climax (so incredibly beautiful); and she cries again. Sherlock holds her tight, hating himself for taking advantage of her in this way - and takes up a case the very next day. Almost a week he stays away from her, focusing on the puzzle instead of those warm eyes dancing behind his.  
  
The puzzle, as it turns out, is a good one. Exciting in the beginning, but more people die. It becomes grotesquely complex and Sherlock is frustrated. Four times the murderer slips right through their fingers.  
Beaten and tense, John convinces Sherlock to a night cap at his house. Reluctantly, he agrees.  
His body feels heavy, just as his eyelids, but he stubbornly carries it over Watson's threshold and through the parlour doors.  
"Sherlock!"  
Lightning strikes him. This voice.  
Molly's angelic voice ignites a spark of energy that immediately explodes inside his body. For a moment, his body feels light as air and the tiredness is washed away and replaced with pure joy.  
"Molly! How come you are still here? It's late."  
He can see that she wants to jump up and rush to him, just like he does want to rush to her, but those stupid social rules forbid it. How he detests them.  
"Rosie didn't feel well and asked me to stay the night."  
The elegant brows on Molly's forhead furrow and worry lights up in her eyes. Right. He looks awful. Not to people who don't know him very well, but to his friends who know him better than himself; yes, he looks awful.  
"Is she ill? Where is Captain Thornrose?" he asks Mary, who is sitting in her usual spot.  
"Asleep, as you should be."  
So, apparently neither of these women will ignore his state.  
"I'm fine."  
"You look thin", Molly comments softly. Somehow, the tone in her voice makes him feel guilty for not eating, which is ridiculous, since she was the one who insisted on him taking a case.  
"Digestion slows me down", is his only reply.  
"Nonesense. I'll get you something to eat. John, help me carry."  
"You know we have staff for this, don't you?"  
Mary just gives him a 'don't be so daft'-look and shoos him out of the room.  
  


Now that they are alone, an unusual silence settles between Sherlock and Molly. It hasn't felt like this in a long while: Embarrassed, nervous, distant.  
To hell with this, Sherlock thinks angrily. He won't allow this old distance to resurface now, even when she is angry with him; or he with her. He doesn't really know what is happening here. But they have promised each other, they will be husband and wife. She is his and he is hers. No inch of air between them. This is how he wants it.  
So, discomfort and pride be damned, he strides towards the couch with determination, sits down on the other end of the sofa, only to lie down a second later; his head coming to rest in her lap. Molly gasps.  
"Sherlock!" Her hands fly to his face and she pushes. "We're not alone."  
"Yes we are."  
"But they'll come back."  
Sherlock sighs, closes his eyes and captures one pushing hand and presses it to his heart.  
"Not any time soon. Mary knows I need you all to myself for a while. She knows I am pining for you, knows I missed you terribly. She understands me better than you do."  
Molly huffs, but the hand stops pushing. A melancholic shudder rushes down his spine when her petite fingers slide into his hair. He relaxes immediately, feels how more and more tension leaves his body with every gentle stroke of Molly's loving hand.  
"I missed you, too", she whispers and Sherlock smiles up at her, eyes still closed.  
"Do you want to talk about the case?"  
"No", he sighs and shifts in her lap, turning his face slightly to her belly so he can smell her more intensely. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to think. I just want to rest in my wife's lap and let her comfort me."  
Sherlock doesn't miss the pause in her movements.  
"I-I'm not your wife, yet."  
"Yes, you are. My heart tells me so. And it tells me I'm your husband. The world just needs to catch up."  
She pulls her other hand free - he only lets go reluctantly - and cradles the side of his face.  
"You of all people shouldn't say such beautiful things. You shouldn't know how to melt my heart with one word. Cold, distant Sherlock Holmes, always mocking and belittling me; not seeing me."  
He frowns and opens his eyes. Hers are wet.  
"I always saw you, Molly. That's why I was cold and distant. I saw that big, loving heart, the most precious treasure on this god-forsaken planet. I saw it and I wanted it. I am a pirat, after all. But I thought my touch would taint it, destroy it; so I stayed away as far as possible."  
She presses her lips together, but her eyes overflow and a tear drops onto his upper lip. Before she can wipe it away he sucks the lip into his mouth and drinks it hungrily.  
"Stupid man", she whispers hoarsely, "you should have known only your touch can give it life."  
Love bursts out of his heart and with a desperately whispered 'Molly' he lifts himself up to capture her mouth for a deep, hungry kiss. She cradles and supports his head as he supports himself with one hand on the sofa next to her, the other in her neck, pulling her closer. After so many days apart, this kiss feels new and familiar at the same time. It's like coming home after a long journey. Almost greedily does he lick her taste into his mouth, teases the velvety tongue of his lover until she gasps. His head is spinning with this primal need for her and he wants to sit up completely so he can finally, finally claim her as his own. That's when Molly breaks the kiss, hastily pressing her hand against his chest.  
"No, please no. I can't say no. If you touch me now I know we won't stop until you've either compromised me or our friends find us in the act of it. I don't want that. And I know you don't want it, either. I love you so much, Sherlock, and I want to be yours with all my heart, but I can't be strong now. I missed you so much and my body is screaming for yours. I will let you do everything, and it will break both our hearts."  
Sherlock presses his face against her throat, panting hard, breathing her in, trying to soothe himself with her scent and her touch. He wants her so god damn much. She feels so far away, even though she more or less has her arms slung around him. His body aches to claim her and, ignoring her plead, he curls his big hand around her shoulder and pulls her sleeve down this elegant curve, exposing her flesh to his greedy eyes. Her frightened whimper saves them both. It clears his head enough to make him realise what the hell he is doing here.  
"My mark. Is my mark still on your skin, Molly mine?"  
His voice is raw and low, like a wolf's growl. It frightens both of them.  
"Yes, yes Sherlock."  
"I want to see it. It's the only thing that can save us. I want to claim you so badly. I need to know you're mine. Only mine."  
Her chest is already heaving, but it seems to rise and fall even faster when he impatiently tugs at the cotton until the mound of her breast is exposed. Red, blue, yellow, purple on pale, creamy flesh. So bloody beautiful. So bloody right. A deep, primal satisfaction spreads warmly in his gut and with another growl he lowers his head to his mark, slides his open mouth over the bruised, warm skin.  
"Mine", he whispers and kisses the mark and her hot breast with nothing but love.  
"Never have I wanted anything so badly as I want you, Molly mine. Never have I felt such a desire for another person. You are my nymph, my goddess of love. I worship you. I will do anything for you."  
Her hands wander into his hair and she gently tugs at his curls to make him look up at her. Her big eyes are soft. His nymph kisses him deeply, but slow and gentle, extinguishing the firestorm of lust and replacing it with the glow of a hearth fire, a steady flame of love and tenderness; not as bright, but so much warmer. Still reveling in this heavenly kiss, Sherlock carefully rearranges her clothes.  
When they part, their minds are in control of their bodies again. They smile at each other and Molly caresses his cheek.  
"Will you really do anything I say, or was that just something you said in the heat of the moment?"  
Her eyes sparkle impishly. He gives her a crooked smile.  
"Dare me."  
"I want you to eat and I want you to sleep tonight."  
Sherlock lets out an exasperated sigh and lies back down, his head on her thighs, of course.  
"Boring."  
"But essential to keep you in good health...for the more daring things I will ask of you."  
He cracks one eye open and she laughs. When her hand slides back into his hair, he closes it again. There will be no interesting requests tonight, he knows.  
"Tell me about your week. I want to hear your voice", Sherlock more or less demands.  
"Nothing interesting happened."  
"Doesn't matter."  
"So you want to listen to all the gory details of my adventurous family lunch today, where seven women spend most of their time complaining about aching backs and nervous stomachs?"  
"No, but as long as you speak, I don't care."  
"Do you like the sound of my voice?"  
"Yes."  
He can feel her smile, that's how close they are.  
"I like yours, too."  
He snorts. "Really? I had no idea."  
She flicks his cheekbone and he grumbles.  
"I don't like it that much."  
Sherlock opens his eyes and looks up at her.  
"Darling, as soon as we are married, I will drive you to ecstasy with only my voice. This I vow to you."  
Her shocked and excited face is hilarious and sensual at the same time.  
"Cocky bastard", she mumbles and brushes her hand over his eyes to make him close them again.  
He gives her one of the arrogant smirks he has used on her a million times. She punishes it with another flick of her finger.  
"Enough banter. Stroke my hair."  
Nothing happens.  
"Please."  
With a sigh she resumes her task and goosebumps spread on his scalp.  
"My grandmother had a cat once which always jumped into my lap as soon as I sat down somewhere, forcing me to pet it for hours. You remind me of sweet little Toby, minus the purring...But maybe I can make you purr someday."  
He wants to flirt back, but he knows he shouldn't. They've already lost their heads once. Also, he really likes this relaxed situation.  
  
"Talk, please?" he asks her after a minute of silence. And his Molly obliges him. He focuses more on the feeling of her hands in his hair and on his face rather than the content of her speech. She could insult him for two hours straight if she wanted to. The sound of her voice is so very dear to him that it wouldn't matter. It has the power to calm any storm raging inside him. Days of stress simply melt away at the touch of her hands and the sound of her soft, feminine voice. He feels at peace again, all thanks to his wife-to-be. Her fingertips start brushing over his face again, like they did this magical day in the garden. First, she outlines his face, then her palm strokes over his forehead, only two fingertips run over brow after brow, back in between, one fingertip disappearing, the other slowly gliding down his nasal bone. Instead of trailing down the length of his nose, the finger only follows the extend of the bone and slides down onto his maxilla, along the underside of his eye socket to his zygomatic bone. The hand in his hair is pressing against his scalp, exploring as well. A smile spreads on his lips. When Molly gently pushes her finger into the skin where his mandible meets the zygomatic bone, he calls her out:  
"Molly Hooper, are you mapping out my skull?"  
Her fingers do not halt in their explorations.  
"It's a very beautiful skull", she says shyly.  
"If you wish, I will put in my will that my skull is to be passed on to you."  
Now her fingers still. When they don't continue, Sherlock opens his eyes. Molly is looking at him, her eyes shining- with what?- shame? Guilt? He asks her about the sudden discomfort only using his eyes and raised eyebrows. She blinks nervously, her lips twitch. A blush blooms on her cheeks.  
"Molly, what is it?" he asks when she still won't speak. Nervousness is spreading in his guts. Just when he wants to lift himself off her lap, she confesses one of her most private secrets:  
"I have my father's skull."  
He freezes. She notices it and her eyes widen in fear. The fingers in his hair bend around his curls, trap them as she hurriedly speaks:  
"I paid a gravedigger to dig him up a year after he died. He opened the coffin and I removed the skull...I defiled my father's grave, Sherlock."  
What a night this is, Sherlock can't help but think exhaustedly. He remains silent, for he senses that now that she has begun, she wants to tell him the entire story.  
"I took him home, cleaned him, and put him under glass. I keep him on my mantle. No one knows it's him. Mother thinks it's a replique. I told her Meena got it for me for my anatomy studies..."  
Her voice dies then. Her fingers are nervously playing with a button of his white shirt.  
"If you want to break the engagement, I understand."  
His hand darts up and catches hers. It was a reflex, done without thinking. His body feared she would leave, so it reacted.  
"Why would I do that?"  
"Because I'm a grave robber", she whispers and there is so much shame in her weak little voice. "I keep my father's skull on the mantle above my fireplace where other people put vases or some other decoration. Doesn't that disgust you? Scare you? The rumors about me don't come from nothing, Sherlock. I'm...abnormal, to say the least."  
"And I thank heaven for it. What on Earth would I do with a normal woman? I would be bored out of my mind within a week!"  
Her lips quirk up into a smile.  
"You, on the other hand, are mysterious and interesting. Your fascination with death doesn't scare me. On the contrary. How many times have we discussed murder victims, fatal wounds and so forth? I delight in these conversations and you of all people should know it. We saw the dark air around the other when we met all these years ago. We recognized that we were one kind. You are one of the few people who can see the beauty and peace of death; and so can I."  
Molly's hand closes around his.  
"I don't love you in spite of this fascination, Molly. I love you because of it."  
His litte Persephone lifts his hand to her lips to kiss his palm with closed eyes.  
"You don't know how much your words mean to me."  
  
Sherlock opens his hand to cradle her face. His heart is aching. So much insecurity in her voice. He knows it's not easy being different from the social norm. He's been through it, he knows the self-doubt and the wish to be...not you. But it was different for him. He's a man. The social pressure is far less on him than on a woman. While he gets to be the 'excentric genius', she is shamed to be 'hysteric', 'mental' and 'perverse'. A man can be different in this society to a certain extent - a woman can't.  
He swallows the lump that has formed in his throat. All the things he said to her throughout the years; he's never thought about the effect it had, other than keeping her away. She's been aware of her love for him. How those words must have stung...  
"My darling...", he says softly to make her open her eyes, "I never once apologized for the horrible things I said to you. But I want to do so now. I am so very sorry I hurt you. I'm ashamed to confess that I never considered how deep those verbal daggers pierced your heart. I never thought about what you must have been through, being as extraordinary as you are. Had I known, if you would have told me, I never would have-"  
"I know."  
She smiles down at him and kisses his knuckles before she places his hand back on his chest to stroke his face.  
"I knew you would have, I did. But...it was the only conversation we were having back then, you numerating my faults. Well, most of it, anyway. So I let you wound me, just so you would focus your attention on me for a few more seconds."  
His chest tightens. He doesn't deserve to be loved by this wonderful creature. How will he ever deserve such a heart?  
"I love you so much, Molly. Please, forgive me."  
"I always have, and I always will."  
She strokes his cheek tenderly, and he closes his eyes and leans into her touch to absorb her warmth.  
"I will replace every harsh word with a kiss, my love, until you've forgotten the last four years."  
Her thumb brushes over his lips and he kisses it tenderly.

_That's one_.  
  
"I don't want to forget one second of our acquaintance. I cherish it all, even the bad moments."  
So does he, to be honest. A memory flashes up behind his eyes, and he decides to share it with her.  
"Do you remember the first time you talked back to me?"  
She smiles fondly.  
"How could I forget? It was in this very room, the first time Mary and John invited us and a few others to their new home. My heart was pounding so hard, I thought I would faint any second."  
Sherlock chuckles and turns his head to kiss her palm.

_Two. Three._  
  
"And you looked at me as if I had run mad", Molly giggles, "and then you stormed off. It was glorious. I felt like a battle maiden. Mary and John both congratulated me."  
He rolls his eyes; of course they did.  
"Do you know why I stormed off?" he asks her, his voice lowering. He opens his mouth to scratch the soft palm with his teeth, catches a bit of skin between them.  
"I was aroused. So god damn aroused."  
"What?!"  
She is half shock, half amusement. Back then, he had only been shocked. As soon as she had snapped back at him, his body had pumped blood into his groin. It only took seconds and he was standing at full attention. It came so fast he had been dizzy and overwhelmed.  
"In that moment, had we been alone, God I would have taken you right here on this sofa. You were so beautiful in your anger, so strong. I would have fallen to my knees and begged you to let me have you. I'd never been so aroused in my entire life. It was frightening."  
Molly's cheeks and nose are fully flushed now, but she bites her bottom lip and smiles down at him mischieviously.  
"Do you want to know the first time I was aroused by you?"  
The mischievious glint in her eyes sends a hot shiver down his back. Apparently, it's a night of confessions.  
"Tell me", he breathes, heat filling his body.  
"It was while Mary was still pregnant. She was in preparations of a party. I was helping and you and John were discussing the current case, debating whether the victim's bruises had been inflicted antemortem or postmortem. You stormed into the kitchen with the supposed murder weapon - the riding crop - and started beating the pig half lying on the table."  
"Molly!"  
Now, Sherlock is shocked. Shocked and excited. Another layer of Molly uncovered. There will be so many nights of passion, he can't help but think. He does not stand a chance with this woman.  
"You're cruel to tell me this, Molly mine. How will I go to sleep tonight without thinking of my hand on your red little bottom?"  
Molly giggles charmingly and presses a finger to his lips.  
"Don't talk so", she laughs, her face flushed and cheeks glowing. He kisses her finger and pulls her wrist to his mouth to kiss, lick and nip at it.  
Molly's eyes sparkle with desire, which only fuels his. He wants her so very badly. Why are they not married yet? Why can't he bed her even after he has promised marriage? Why is society so cruel?  
Just when he wants to throw caution to the wind, the sound of footsteps and voices. Too loud on purpose. Sherlock groans in frustration and presses her hand against his cheek.  
"Behave", Molly ordered.  
"Only if you come to Baker Street tomorrow. Alone. Promise."  
"I will come when you solved the case, not before."  
He nips at her finger disapprovingly, but makes her promise it.  
"Have we made enough noise? May we come in?"  
"It's our parlour, Mary."  
"Yes, but I don't want to walk into it and find the engaged couple in a...delicate situation."  
"Molly would never allow such frivolity."  
"Oh, I don't know, John", Mary says and finally steps into the room, "Sherlock can be quite...tempting, if he wants to be."  
"I beg your pardon?!"  
Mary grins over her shoulder. Sherlock grins up at his best friend from Molly's lap. John halts in his steps when he sees his position.  
"Do you find this appropriate, Holmes?"  
"It is very comfortable, that's all that matters to me. You all told me to relax. And I relax best in my fiancée's lap."  
Molly gasps as Sherlock's suggestive words and scolds him with a flick of her finger. Mary laughs and John is appalled, as expected.  
"Could we please change the subject...or clarify in what way Holmes tempts you, Mrs. Watson."  
"Most of the time he tempts me to slap him", Mary retorts and grins down at Sherlock as she offers him the tray with sandwiches she's been holding. When he doesn't take one, Molly takes two.  
"You'll crumble all over me", Sherlock complains.  
"Well, then you better eat them both", Molly cleverly points out. Sherlock narrows his eyes at her. Then he opens his mouth. Molly's eyes widen at the implication.  
"I'm very hungry, Miss Hooper. I'm working on an exhausting case, have barely slept. I'm clearly too weak to feed myself."  
Molly takes a deep breath and presses her lips together, then she rolls her eyes and carefully pushes the edge of the sandwich past his parted lips. Sherlock bites it off, his eyes glued to hers, and chews with the smuggest grin she has ever seen.  
"I now see what you mean, Mary. I, too, have the urge to slap him."  
Sherlock ignores her comment, swallows the delicious food and opens his mouth again. With a sigh, Molly continues to feed her fiancé. Watson's eyes the scene with open discomfort, so Mary inquires about the case to distract them both. Since Sherlock's mouth is occupied, John does most of the talking. He continues even after the sandwiches are gone.  
"Stroke, please", Sherlock says softly and closes his eyes expectantly.  
Molly looks at her friends apologetically, then does as she is bidden. When Sherlock softly hums, Molly smiles.  
"You really are like a cat", she comments.  
"I had a cat when I was little", Mary says, directing the conversation away from Sherlock's indecent behaviour. They talk of pets for a long while, discuss if they should get a pet for Rosie. During this conversation Molly notices how Sherlock goes limp in her arms. His head slowly turns to her belly once again. She looks down and her heart flutters when she sees the serene expression and the slightly parted lips. With as much tenderness as is in her heart she gently strokes his cheek, momentarily forgetting that she's not alone with this beautiful man.  
"You're joking", John comments when he notices, not amused.  
"Shh. Don't wake him", Mary scolds, "he hasn't slept in days."  
"He should sleep in his bed, not on Molly."  
"It's fine", the brown-eyed woman says softly and strokes Sherlock's cheek once more.  
"No, it's not. This...this is indecent, Molly."  
"Says the man who climbed through my window one night before our wedding day."  
"Mary!" John hisses and blushes, as any decent man should. At Molly's giggle, he huffs.  
"I'm going to bed. Goodnight."  
"No kiss goodnight, darling?" Mary chirps as he rushes past her and storms up the stairs.  
"Well, that was fun", she laughs and shares a cheeky smile with Molly.  
"He is just trying to look out for me."  
"He's a hypocrite. If I told you about all the indecent things he did to me before we were wed, even your ears would blush."  
"I am tempted to ask", Molly admits, half-laughing.  
"Another time, perhaps. When the men are not around."  
Molly looks down, smiles sweetly and strokes his cheek and ear.  
"He's so very beautiful."  
"He's not bad to look at."  
"I wish I was more beautiful. Then I wouldn't feel so...inadequate."  
"Don't talk like this. You are beautiful. And even if you weren't, it wouldn't matter to Sherlock. He's not interested in beauty."  
"I know..."  
Molly takes a moment to admire his handsome features, the warm, soft skin and the silky curls underneath her fingertips.  
"Mary?"  
"Yes, dear?"  
"Am I dreaming?"  
She looks up, almost frightened. Mary smiles.  
"No, dear. This is real."  
Molly shakes her head, looking down again.  
"I still can't believe it. It all happened so fast. So many years of secret longing and heartache. And now he's lying in my lap, sleeping peacefully as if he's done it a million times. He's been so hurtful, but now he says the most wonderful things. He loves me. He loves me, Mary. How can this be? How can such an extraordinary man love something so plain?"  
Gently, lovingly, Molly lets her fingers slide through Sherlock's soft curls. So very beautiful. He looks so young now, his skin and features smooth, not a worry in the world, free in a deep, peaceful sleep. Molly wonders what he's dreaming of, if she is there with him. She wants to be. She wants to be with him always. Forever. And when she can't, then she will at least watch over him, keep him safe. Thinking this, her fingertips slide down his cheekbone to his jaw, and then back up. It's heaven, doing this. She is more content and at peace than ever. In this moment she feels like Selene, greek goddess of the moon, watching over her lover Endymion in his eternal slumber. If he has been as beautiful as Sherlock, then no wonder the moon came down to Earth to look at him...  
"I've completely lost you, haven't I?"  
Molly blinks and looks up, confused. Mary softly laughs.  
"You two are so smitten with each other. It's adorable."  
Molly smiles, her cheeks glowing.  
"Are we very ridiculous?"  
"After four years of wasted time you deserve to be ridiculous."  
Molly giggles and slides her fingers through Sherlock's hair again.  
"Thank you, Mary. Without you, I would have never known that Sherlock feels for me. And I never would have kissed him, for sure."  
"I'm glad I could help."  
"One stupid little kiss was all it took. Not to think if I hadn't done it. What we would be missing...how did you know he loves me?" Molly asks her friend, "I never suspected it. Was there a moment, or something he said?"  
Mary shrugs.  
"I can't pinpoint one specific moment. I just noticed that the way he looked at you slowly changed. His eyes grew softer when he looked at you. They followed you when you moved and he began seeking your company, following you even when it was abundantly clear you were trying to avoid him. Many little things like these. I began to hope, but knew I couldn't talk to him about it. Had I told him he would have fled, for sure, the fool being afraid of his own heart. So I told you, hoping you would confront him, perhaps tell him how you felt. I'd never suspected you'd be as bold as to kiss him, though."  
Now Molly blushes and lowers her eyes to the sensual mouth of her lover, reliving the very first moment she had felt it on hers, how very gentle he had been.  
"I was annoyed and jealous of Ms. Adler...I couldn't stand feeling like this anymore, so I threw caution to the wind, thinking it couldn't get much worse, anyway."  
"And now you're engaged."  
"Yes", Molly breathes, feeling tears well up in her eyes, which she quickly swallows down.  
"Will you be my maid of honour?" she asks Mrs. Watson.  
"With pleasure, Molly."  
They smile warmly at each other and continue to converse on lighter subjects for a while, Molly relentlessly caressing her lover's face and hair.  
Eventually, Mary yawns.  
"We should go to bed. It's past midnight."  
"I'll stay here for a little longer...I don't have the heart to wake him. He's been so exhausted."  
"I think I can stay up a bit longer."  
"Oh, no. Please don't on my account. I'm perfectly fine here. You should go to sleep."  
"And leave you two unchaperoned? Your mother will murder me if she finds out."  
Molly laughs.  
"I certainly won't tell her."  
Mary gives her a contemplating look, then sighs, smiling.  
"Oh, what the heck. You will be married in a few weeks and you're responsible adults. I think I can trust you not to defile my sofa."  
"Mary!"  
Mrs. Watson only laughs and rises, reaching for a few cushions and bringing them to Molly so she can get more comfortable. When Molly is comfortable, Mary leans forward and places a kiss on her forehead.  
"Goodnight, Selene."  
Molly's eyes widen.  
"Goodness, I was just thinking about her! Sherlock is right, we really do spend too much time together."  
The women laugh and share another warm smile before Mary wishes Molly a good night again and leaves the room. It's just Molly and her Endymion now. For almost another hour she simply looks and caresses him, until her eyes drift close and sleep takes her, as well.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, that's a shameless Sailor Moon reference in this chapter. One day I will write this AU!  
> *Spongebob narrator voice* One million years later...


	5. The temptation of your lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All alone, hidden in the dark, comfortable, relaxed and so in love, it is difficult to stay chaste.

When Sherlock awakens with Molly's little hands in his hair and on his chest, pure happiness explodes in his heart. It takes him a moment to remember his surroundings. He sees her leaned against a green fluffy cushion, fast asleep. How long has he been sleeping, he wonders and his eyes dart to the mantle to check the clock. A pang of guilt rips the happiness apart when he sees the time. He sits up and turns around, now worried.   
"Molly", he calls her softly and - with his heartbeat accelerating - he gently strokes her cheek. He has seen her asleep a few times, remembers every single one of them, none of them as dear to him as the first time.   
Rosie had been ill, a little over a year old, and the entire self-made family had been sick with worry. They had taken shifts at the little girl's bedside and when Sherlock had come to take over, he had found Molly in Rosie's bed, the little girl safely wrapped in her arms, both of them sleeping peacefully.   
"Maybe that's when I've fallen in love with you", Sherlock whispers, musing aloud. "You looked so serene...so very beautiful...my darling. Molly mine..."  
He can't resist the temptation and leans down to place a kiss on her forehead...another against her temple...on her ear...her cheek...the corner of her mouth. There is such a need in him to hold her. His hands are tingling, the heart in his chest beating with longing.  
"I love you", he whispers, his nose brushing over her skin. He inhales her scent and lets his lips slide along her hairline. Her warmth lures him to come closer, to wrap his arms around her. With a sigh, he rests his forehead on her shoulder.   
  
_Not married yet._   
  
With a sigh he wakes her, gently shaking her shoulder. Her eyes open slowly, blink lazily, finding his. He smiles at her and before she can say anything, he leans down to kiss her. Although she is not fully awake yet, she kisses him back.   
"You should have woken me", he gently scolds her, his lips still less than an inch away from hers. As he has hoped, she leans forward to kiss him.   
"It's fine. You need rest, working so hard on the case..."  
She leans back into the cushion, her eyes drifting shut.  
"No, no. Wake up. You can't sleep here."  
"Why not? It's comfy", Sherlock can't help but chuckle at the pouting sound of her voice, "and you are here to keep me warm."  
Oh, this nymph. Does she even know what she's doing to him?  
"I have to go home. We both need sleep. Now, up."  
"No."  
"Molly."  
"Nooo."  
If possible, he loves her even more now.   
"Fine, then you leave me no choice."  
He reaches under her and pulls her up into his arms.  
"No, I'm too heavy."  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
"We'll fall down the stairs", she yawns, but wraps her arms around his neck anyway and beds her head on his shoulder.  
"You'll always be safe with me, Molly."  
This sentence is heavier with meaning than Sherlock has intended, but suddenly he desperately wants her to know that he will always protect her; that he would die for her.  
  
...Jesus Christ, he would. Within the blink of an eye and with a smile on his face, if it keeps her alive and well.  
  
"I love you."  
His heart flutters in his chest and he halts to press a tender kiss to her cheek. Then he climbs the rest of the stairs with his future bride in his arms and walks into the guest bedroom she usually occupies when she stays the night. The bed is already turned down, the remains of a fire glowing in the fire place. He carries her to the bed and gently lays her down- trying very hard not to think about the next time he will do this; on their wedding night...in his bed.  
He tugs her in like he has Rosie a thousand times and leans down to kiss her goodnight, like he has promised. To his surprise Molly's hand snakes around his head. Suddenly, her eyes are open, glowing warmly like the wood in the fire place.  
"Stay."  
His lips part, a violent tremor rushes through him.   
"To sleep", Molly adds when she sees his expression, her eyes glued to his mouth, betraying her words.   
"No."  
The hand in his neck wanders into his hair.  
"I don't want to be apart from you", Molly whispers and Sherlock's chest tightens, feeling her pain. He lets out a breath, resting his forehead against hers.   
"I can't, Molly. We're not married, yet. When they find us-"  
She silences him with a kiss and Sherlock almost loses balance at the surge of desire rushing through his body. His head is spinning; this kiss, Lord, it's pure seduction.   
She shouldn't know how to kiss like this, he thinks desperately and sinks into bed with her, one hand on each of her sides, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, getting drunk on her lips and tongue. It would be all so easy, his body tries to convince his brain. All he has to do is lock the door, then he can get into bed with his nymph and claim her as his own.

She wants to be claimed so badly.

Her kiss and her hold on him are begging him to put them both out of their misery. She is his. He is hers. Those vows; they're just a technicality. They are already bonded, they both feel it in their hearts. Making love would only strengthen the bond, not soil it. These are just foolish church teachings. He couldn't care less about those. And he knows Molly feels the same way.

Sweet, delicious Molly; his heart, his nymph, his Persephone.

God, how much he wants her.

And now she offers herself so seductively...

How can he decline such an offer? he thinks and lowers his upper body onto hers, stroking and teasing her tongue with his. Molly winds her arms around him, pulls him closer. Yes, yes! does his body rejoice and Sherlock curls his hand around her shoulder, holding it tight. The sensations of their body pressed together lying down...it feels so different from standing up. This somehow is so much more intimate...so much more erotic. Sherlock's head is dizzy with desire and he pants into Molly's willing, open mouth, licks her tongue with demanding strokes of his own. There is a tremble in his fingers when he moves from her shoulder down her front, because his destination is her breast and when he reaches it, he presses his hand against it, digs his fingers through the layers of clothes to feel the heat of her mound; a mound he has kissed and bitten and licked, but never touched like this.   
Both him and Molly groan when he grabs her like this, the blasted corset hindering his exploration, but the volume of Molly's moan and the nails digging into his scalp make him let go of her instantly. Through the fog of lust his brain commands his hand to wander lower, down her belly to her hip, grabbing that now. He needs to grab her, hold her, make sure she stays with him.   
His future bride gasps into his mouth again and arches her body. The hand not buried in his hair wraps around his back, pressing him to her as if she was trying to suffocate herself with his weight. But Sherlock loves, oh yes, the intensity and heat of it all. He shifts closer to her, rolls half on top of her, desperate for even more contact. And Molly, God, Molly bends one knee, her shoe on the sheets...parting her legs for him.   
With an animalistic growl against her lip his hand rushes up her thigh and starts gathering her skirt, pulling, pulling, more, faster.

He will claim her, he thinks desperately, tonight, now, now.

  
To hell with hell and sin and religion. To hell with it all. Her body is his. His body is hers. He will rip those clothes off of her and cover her body with his, will rest his hips between her thighs, will sink into her...

...and will leave evidence on the sheets. The maid will see. Gossip will spread. Will reach Mrs. Hooper's ears...and she will never let him marry her. She will send her away to the country, where her mind will starve and her heart will resent him forever...  
  
With a desperate moan Sherlock breaks the kiss and buries his head in her neck, panting hard. The danger of a total separation, of losing her, clears his head.   
"We can't, we can't", Sherlock whispers urgently, desire consuming him as Molly arches her body against his.   
"I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife. Forever, Molly. You and me. If your mother finds out, she will take you away from me, she will never let me have you. I would rather die than let this happen. My darling, my love, my heart."  
Sherlock kisses her, his taste full of fear and desperation. He cups her face with both hands and looks down at her, their hot breaths mingling in the inch of space between them. Molly's eyes are huge and teary.  
"I'm sorry, so sorry, I-", she stammers, but he kisses her again, tries to be tender, but fear and desire make him kiss her hard.   
"I love you", he ensures her several times, sliding to the edge of the bed and down, sinking to his knees and burying his face in her belly, both of them trying to catch their breaths. He almost bursts into tears when her fingers wander into his hair. Wonderful, kind-hearted creature. He feels like he doesn't deserve her caress after losing control once again, but welcomes it all the same. After a while of Molly's soothing movements, Sherlock can ease the grasp he has on her, his fingers buried deep in her sides. Another deep breath, then his head is clear enough that he dares to speak.   
"Molly?"  
"Yes?"  
"Will you be very upset with me if I go without looking at you? I...I don't think I'm strong enough to leave if I do."  
Her hand smoothes its way through his curls and he relishes this feeling. He will never tire of this, he knows.   
"It's fine, Sherlock. I understand."  
He lets out a deep breath and snuggles into her for one more precious moment.  
"It's been a turbulent night", he sums up, exhaustion slowly creeping up on him.  
"Our night of confessions."  
He smiles into the cotton of her dress, breathing in the jasmine on her skin and the soap in the fabric.   
"I will solve this case and then you will come to Baker Street. We will spend a wonderful day together. I could play for you. We could experiment. Or play games."  
"It sounds all very lovely. I can't wait."  
He pulls her against him and whispers his feelings against her belly. Molly strokes his hair lovingly.  
"Goodnight, Molly mine", Sherlock says next, once again the weight of separation sinking in on him.   
"Goodnight, my Sherlock."  
He lifts himself up and presses a quick peck on her lips before he rushes out of the guest room and out of the house. Instead of going home and not sleep he visits the crime scenes again, searching for clues with focused determination. He has to solve this case. He wants Molly in his home, all to himself. As soon as possible.

 


	6. A day at Baker Street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock solved the case. Molly comes to visit.

"You summoned me, oh great Master Holmes?"  
The sound of her voice sends his heart into a fit of joyful hopping around. He bolts out of his chair, tossing his book carelessly to the floor, and hurries to the smiling woman in the white blouse with thin blue stripes, a grey double-breasted vest and a light-brown skirt. No corset, no bustle cage; just like he had instructed. He is one lucky man.  
Just when he is about to pull her into his arms and make up for seven days of not kissing her, he hears the porcelain clatter of tea things and the footsteps of his housekeeper.  
Molly giggles and his eyes dart to her. She looks at him sympathetically, slides a hand down the lapel of his soft camel dressing gown and gives him a small kiss on his cheek; which only adds to his disappointment, because her lips are warm and she smells so nice.   
"Mrs. Hudson insisted on tea and bisquits", she says and pushes him so he moves back into the living room. Another set of footsteps stomping up the stairs. Sherlock groans.   
_Oh, for the love of-_  
"Got her, Mr. Holmes."  
"Yes, Archie, so I see. Well done. Now go home."  
"Mr. Holmes!" Mrs. Hudson scolds as she puts down the tray. "That poor boy ran around town for you for the last two days, the least you can do is to feed him."  
"I helped Mr. Holmes solve the case", little Archie explains proudly to Molly, who is all excitement. Sherlock can't help but be upset when his fiancée's attention is all focused on the boy. Archie sits down next to her on the sofa and while he stuffs his face with Mrs. Hudson's bisquits, he tells her all about the - admittedly invaluable - surveillance he has done for him in the dark parts of London. Molly listens intently, gasping in all the right places, pulling him against her side and stroking his hair.   
  
This is not what he has planned for today, Sherlock thinks, completely frustrated. There sits the woman he loves, who he has missed terribly, and she is giving all of her affection to the boy instead of him. Didn't she miss him at all? Doesn't she want to hug him, hold him and kiss him? Doesn't she love him?!  
"Enough!" It bursts out of him after Molly ran her hand through Archie's brown curls yet again. "Out! Both of you!"  
"Sherlock!" Molly protests, but Archie has already jumped up and is stuffing the rest of the bisquits into his pockets before he dashes off. Since Mrs. Hudson is still complaining, Sherlock grabs her by the arm and ushers her out.  
"You're being rude!"  
"I'm being rude?!" Sherlock stops and glares at her, "you know I haven't seen Molly for a week. You know how much I looked forward to this day with her - alone!"  
"You are not married, yet. You two being alone here-"  
"Is within the confines of those stupid premarital rules! It's during the day and you're right downstairs. If she screams for help, you can come up and hit me with your frying pan." He gives her an angry push towards the door.   
"Fine. I'll leave. But you be nice to her. And the doors will remain open!"  
"Wha-?! I'm not a child and you're not my mother!"  
"Of course we'll leave the doors open. And I promise you we will behave, Mrs. Hudson."   
Molly steps in front of him, trying to prevent the situation from escalating.   
"Very well, dear. If he tries anything-"  
"I will call you immediately, I promise."  
Another glare between the two residents of 221 Baker Street, then Molly and Sherlock are finally, finally alone.  
"Why on Earth did you-"  
She cuts him off by crashing her mouth to his. A second of surprise and a violent shudder down his spine, then he wraps his arms around her and pulls her flush against him. Finally, the making up for lost time starts, he thinks and parts his lips to invade her mouth with his tongue. The little sigh she utters makes him weak in the knees.   
"I missed you so much", she breathes as she tilts her head to the other side, her nose brushing against his. He only moans his agreement, for her mouth is already on his again, her clever tongue curling around his.   
"I'm so proud of you for solving this case."  
His entire body trembles when her hands wander beneath his dressing gown and pushes it off his shoulders. What is happening?! he thinks desperately as he shrugs out of it and tosses it over his chair.  
"What are you doing?" he pants and looks down at her with wide eyes.  
"Getting more comfortable."   
She smiles up at him cheekily and cups his face with both hands, nibbling at his full bottom lip.   
"I think Mrs. Hudson lectured the wrong person", he comments breathlessly and wraps his arms around her small frame. She is so wonderfully warm and soft. They kiss again, this time less hungry, more tender. Their tongues stroke lazily, their lips kiss softly. When they finally part after minutes, there is a warm glow in her eyes and a warm fire burning in his heart. Sherlock smiles and caresses her cheek with his thumb. Molly closes her eyes.   
"What would you like to do?" he asks softly.   
"Well, what I really want to do must wait until after the wedding", Molly jokes and sends an exciting jolt to his middle, "but I could settle for you telling me about the case...and a little cuddle?" The last part is only a shy whisper, which he finds terribly adorable.  
"Sherlock Holmes doesn't cuddle", Sherlock feigns disgust, but takes her hand and leads her to the sofa. They sit down and Sherlock pulls her against him, his heart beating a little faster. Molly beams at him, quickly takes off her shoes, pulls her feet up on the seat and wraps an arm around him. Sherlock leans back against the armrest and bends down his head to kiss her.   
"The case", Molly reminds him after a few minutes, her cheeks flushed and her strong heartbeat pounding against his side.   
"Right."  
Molly rests her head on his shoulder and snuggles against him. It's the most intimate contact they had so far without passion clouding their minds and both of them are highly aware of the other body. It's exciting, pleasant, and warm, all at the same time. Molly is so incredibly soft. Sherlock can't stop stroking her back, her neck, her side down to the curve of her hip and back up again. As he recaps his case for her, they slowly drift down on the sofa, shifting here and there, getting more comfortable, until he lies fully on the seat...and she half on top of him. He only becomes fully aware of it when he ends his report. Physical intimacy feels so natural with her. So god damn right.   
She is towering over him, her head supported by her hand, her elbow resting on the same pillow as his head. Her fingers draw lazy circles on his chest and one leg is resting between his. Sherlock is looking up at her, one hand in the small of her back, the other curled around her forearm. This is a completely new experience, being this close to another person. He should be nervous or tense, like he usually is when it comes to body contact, but he only feels warm, content, comfortable. It shows with the small smile and the sparkling eyes. The sun is shining right through the window, framing Molly's head, giving her an angelic glow. He could lay here forever, he thinks happily, the peace of this moment making him incredibly sentimental.  
"Your eyes are so beautiful", Molly says softly and her hand comes to rest on his cheek, her thumb lovingly stroking his high cheekbone.   
"Ever changing between all the shades of blue and green like an ocean, the brown little dots above your pupils like rocks. How often have I tried to recreate these unique colours on paper, never satisfied with the result."  
He smirks. "You drew portraits of me?"  
"I tried. And failed miserably." She lets out a frustrated sigh, her eyes darting from left to right, inspecting his irises.   
"Would you like me to sit for you?"  
She laughs. "You, sitting still for longer than five minutes? I hardly believe you're capable, Mr. Holmes."  
He narrows his eyes at her for a moment, then turns his head to kiss her palm.   
"I would do anything for you...even sit still." Molly giggles. "In fact, I'm lying still right now and you can see I do perfectly well."  
"That's true. I take it all back."  
"Thank you."  
They share a smile and keep looking at each other. A flush spreads on her cheeks all of a sudden and she bites her lower lip.   
"What?"  
She smiles shyly.   
"I...I would like to draw you...nude."  
Sherlock's heart skips a beat and his lips part. Molly bites her lip again and a mischievious glint comes into her eyes.   
"M-Maybe after the wedding", he says, now actually a little nervous...and enticed.   
"Not before?", she teases and Sherlock loves and hates her for it, "I promise I would be very professional."  
"You might would be, but I wouldn't. There is no possible scenario in which I'm nude and you stay clothed."  
Her eyes sparkle at his words and her hand wanders up into his hair. He has only used a little pomade this morning, hoping she would do this, so she frees his dark curls easily.  
"I want to look at you, Sherlock", Molly confesses, her voice so seductive it makes him dizzy.   
"Why?"   
Boy, does he feel foolish. Heat rises in his cheeks. But it's all her fault! She shouldn't be so bold, so tempting, so sure of herself. If she would be just a little more insecure and shy, it would be so much easier to keep a clear head.  
"Scientific curiosity. You always wear so many layers...do you look like one of those statues in Anderson's labyrinth? Do you have hair on your chest?"  
"Please, dear God, stop!"  
Molly giggles at his outburst.   
"Shh. You're going to alarm Mrs. Hudson."  
"Well, maybe I should. I think I need saving from a nymph."  
Her eyes widen for a second, but then she has the nerve to smirk.  
"Would that be a forest nymph or a sea nymph? A siren, perhaps?"  
"You really shouldn't enjoy teasing me so much."  
His voice is a weak, begging plead and Molly strokes his cheek as she laughs.   
"You've teased me for four bloody years. You must allow me some revenge."  
"I never teased you sexually."  
To hell with shyness. If she isn't shy, so won't he.  
"Every time you walk into a room you tease me sexually."  
He can't help but chuckle at that. And he can't help the warm wave of desire rolling through him.   
"How can this be, with all the layers I'm wearing?"  
"Well, you make me wonder what lies underneath. Your body is so well hidden it's nerve wrecking."  
He laughs at her annoyed tone and shakes his head.   
"God, I love you."  
He lets a hand slide through her hair and pulls her down for a gentle nibble at her bottom lip.  
"Great, thanks. That makes it so much easier to behave."  
"Five more minutes of misbehaviour?"  
Her eyes sparkle at his suggestion.   
"Really?" Her voice sounds so hopeful, bless her.  
"It's dangerous, but the knowledge of Mrs. Hudson being downstairs with her frying pan ready will stop us from being too reckless. And then we will be rational again and spend a lovely day in each other's company. We will be decent and no one will tease the other. Do you agree?"  
"Will we be allowed to kiss each other?"  
"Absolutely."  
Their eyes drift to each other's mouths, shivering from all the pleasurable memories.   
"Then I full heartily agree. And for the record, I do apologize for speaking so frankly. I hope you don't think less of me now."  
His eyes grow soft and his fingertips brush down her cheek.   
"Of course not, my darling. Please believe me that my desires match your own, for sure. Seven days ago I almost lost myself to them. I admit, the intensity of my desire frightens me at times. All my life I suppressed most of my emotions and instincts...it's difficult to handle them, at times. I can't wait to be your husband and...explore them with you."  
Molly's cheeks flush sweetly at this and she whispers words of love as he pulls her face down to his. Her skirt rustles as she rolls on top of him completely. A moan escapes his lips as he feels her full weight on him. Automatically he spreads his legs a little so hers can settle in between, her hips even heavier on his now.   
Oh, this is dangerous, his mind warns him, but his arms wind around her and his tongue pushes hers back into her mouth to kiss her long and deep, and his legs lift and bend to tilt his pelvis so his hardening muscle is pressed against her oh so nicely. Their kisses are deep, slow, sensual, never breaking. Sherlock blindly pulls pins out of her hair until it falls down her back in thick waves. His hands are in it a second later, the hair pins discarded on the floor, forgotten. He moans into her mouth as he weaves through the hazelnut silk over and over again, his tongue stroking, tasting hers. When they part for air and tilt their heads to the other side, neither of them opens their eyes. They want to continue to drown in this intimacy.   
  
This is only a little taste of all the passion that lies ahead of them, but it's so intense for Sherlock already. Molly on top of him is a thrill beyond compare. The heat of her breasts burns through all the layers of clothes they're wearing and scorches his skin. But oh, does he love this feeling. Her warmth and scent all around him, her weight melted against him, feeling so bloody right.   
Of course they lose themselves longer than five minutes. Neither of them cares. Neither of them is satisfied when they finally break apart. Neither of them ever will ever have enough of the other.

When they resurface to reality, they are breathless and even more in love. Their eyes are burning with longing, so Sherlock pulls at Molly's neck to bed her head on his shoulder. Her hot, rasping breath hits his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to fight down his arousal. It takes a very long while before their heartbeats normalise. But when they do, both smile happily and Sherlock interlaces his fingers with hers.   
"Sherlock?" Molly asks softly, finally trusting her voice again.   
"Hm?"  
"Can we talk money for a moment?"  
He sighs.  
"If we have to."  
Her thumb brushes over his knuckle.   
"Do you want to look for a house? I talked to mother yesterday and my dowry is enough for a nice house, maybe on Wimpole Street? It's not that far fom Baker Street, Regent's Park is close by..."  
"You've thought this through, it seems."  
"It doesn't have to be Wimpole Street. I just thought-"  
Sherlock lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses it.   
"Molly, I don't care where we live. I would live in Whitechapel as long as you would be with me."  
She smiles and kisses him.  
"Very well. Would you like to accompany me on the hunt? I would understand if you didn't. You would be bored to death."  
She giggles, which he cuts off with another, lingering kiss.   
"I will come if you want me to."  
She shakes her head.   
"I don't mind doing it alone. If you trust me making a good choice for us."  
"Of course. You know me better than I know myself."  
Molly blushes and caresses his face with her fingertips.   
"A large study. A separate room for experimentation...adjoining bedrooms?"  
He frowns at that.  
"For the baby, I hope."  
Molly shrugs and averts her eyes.  
"I would understand if you occasionally need space. The last thing I want is to smother you."  
His heart clenches and he wraps both his arms tightly around his fiancée.   
"Every night, Molly. You and me, in our marital bed. Promise."   
The insecurity that lingered in her eyes vanishes and she smiles.  
"I promise."  
"I promise", Sherlock repeats and gathers some of her hair in his fist. No pressure, no pulling her in one direction or the other; he just wants to hold it; hold her.   
"Very well. I'll hire an estate agent first thing tomorrow."  
Sherlock simply nods, staring up into her lovely dark eyes. He planned many things for them for this day, but they will spend most of the rest of it right here, on his sofa, just holding each other silently, occasionally kissing and whispering sweet nothings to each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha ha, you thought those two couldn't behave, didn't you? Well, they definitely proved you wrong. *puts not invented sunglasses on them*


	7. Share you pain like you share your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few grey clouds on a bright blue sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Waaah, I forgot to update yesterday. I was so good up to now, darn! I'm annoyed on your behalf. Good news, the next chapter is only 2 days away!

"Is that Mollily?"  
Sherlock cranes his neck to look through the window he and his goddaughter are currently standing at, following Rosie's outstretched index finger.  
"No."  
"That?"  
"No."  
Both of them sigh.  
"It's been twenty minutes, you two. I'm sure Molly will arrive any minute."  
"She's never late", Rosie voices Sherlock's thought.  
"And the last time she has, she's been recklessly dragging people out of a burning house", he adds, but turns away, trusting his Captain to keep an eye out.  
"Don't be so dramatic. And don't frighten Rosie", Mary says in a lower voice.  
Sherlock huffs and lets himself fall onto the sofa opposite Mrs. Watson.  
"So, I take it you're still smitten with your bride?" Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Molly gave the loveliest report of her visit to Baker Street the other day."  
A content smile spreads on his lips and Mary giggles knowingly.  
"I can't wait to live with her", Sherlock admits, reliving the sweet pressure of her warm body on top of his and the feeling of absolute peace and tranquility with her in his arms.  
"Good thing she already knows about all your annyoing domestic habits. John has informed her of everything she needs to know."  
Sherlock sits up.  
"What?! When?"  
"Last time she visited. Two days ago."  
He jumps up. Molly thinks he's a horrible flatmate. John scared her off with his lamenting tales of how he ' _tortured_ ' him when he was still a resident of 221B Baker Street. And now she doesn't want to marry him anymore. That's why she's not coming. Curse John Watson!  
"Mollily!"  
Rosie jumps excitedly and dashes past her mother and her godfather to greet her godmother at the door.  
For a second Sherlock feels weak in the knees. She has come, thank goodness. Determined to ensure her that he would never behave to her like he did to John, he is about to walk to the door, as well.  
"Calm yourself, Mr. Holmes", Mary slows him, "give her time to come to you."  
Sherlock huffs again, but sits down.  
"Hello, Rosie."  
Mary and Sherlock look at each other. Something's wrong, they both can tell by the sound of her voice. They rise to greet her.  
"I'm sorry I'm late."  
They see Molly walk past the parlour doors, carrying Rosie. Sherlock and Mary share a look as Rosie tells her that they are in the parlour. Molly walks in, a sheepish smile on her face.  
"Sorry, I thought you were already having dinner. You needn't have waited for me."  
"Of course we waited", Mary smiles and takes her daughter out of Molly's arms.  
"Sorry", Molly says again and tries a smile.  
"Don't worry about it. Let's go through to the dining room. John excuses himself. He had an emergency."  
Mary waits for Molly's nod, then she leads the way, giving the lovers the opportunity to greet each other properly. Sherlock appreciates it, but his heart sinks when Molly turns to follow her immediately.  
  
Something is definitely wrong.  
  
He will kill John Watson.  
  
"Molly", he calls out and reaches for her hand. She lets him hold it, but doesn't look at him.  
"Hello, Sherlock."  
"Is everything alright, darling?"  
Her brows knit at the term of endearment, only for a second, but it's enough to make his heart clench.  
"Yes, fine. I have a slight headache, but I guess that comes from the hunger. I'm famished. Haven't eaten all day."  
She tries out a smile and a brief look, then she pulls her hand away and follows Mary. Sherlock follows her wordlessly, worry gnawing on his mind.

Rosie, who is in a happy mood now that her godmother is here does most of the table conversation. For such a young age she is a brilliant entertainer, making everybody laugh, even Molly.  
  
Molly.  
  
She's clearly upset. Sherlock tries to make her look at him, to tell him something with her eyes, but when he catches them, they flee instantly. And when he reaches out under the table to take her hand in his, she pulls it away. He feels shut out, so utterly separated from her thoughts and heart that it makes him nauseous. Two unbearable hours, then Rosie is put to sleep and the three of them return to the parlour. When Molly attempts to sit beside Mary instead of him, he stops her with a hand on her elbow, his eyes pleading as he gently pulls at her arm. Her eyes flee again, but after a second she follows his lead and sits beside him; where she belongs.  
"Tell us what happened."  
Mary's sisterly voice is a blessing, Sherlock thinks. He wouldn't have been able to encourage her so calmly, for his insides are in uproar. He can't stand this distance between them. Impatiently, he lets Mary take the lead; and she simply waits for her friend to open up.  
Molly glances at Sherlock. It hurts, but he wants to offer to leave.

_Anything for her_

But Molly sighs and stares at the hands in her lap and finally speaks.  
"I had an argument with Mother."  
"About the wedding?"  
"About everything", Molly breathes and shakes her head.  
"What do you mean?"  
"You know, the usual. Reproaching me for my choice for a husband," Sherlock's chest aches at this, "questioning my abilites to be a good wife and then we circled back to her favorite topic: what a dissappointment I am as a daughter."  
She lets out a breath. In this moment Sherlock despises Mrs. Hooper. He wants to reach out for Molly, but doesn't dare. Instead he looks at Mary for help. Apparently, Mary's advice is silence, for she doesn't comment anything. He should say something, he thinks, tell her that to him, she is the perfect woman. Molly shouldn't be alone with her thoughts and her mother's toxic words echoing inside her head.  
"I don't know why it still upsets me. For the past 15 years we had this discussion, ever since she found my sketch of a bird's skeleton. I've given up hope that she could ever understand me years ago. She never tried, why would she start now?"  
Molly bites out a bitter laugh and Sherlock physically hurts with the urge to gather her up in his arms. He knows exactly how Molly feels.  
"And yet I try to please her desperately. But it only upsets her more. First, I'm too involved in the wedding plans, so I let her manage the preparations, now I'm not involved enough. I start looking for a house for my husband and me and she gets upset that I make a decision without her. It's all so bloody frustrating!"  
She lets her head fall onto the backrest and lets out another sigh. Sherlock can't stand it anymore, even if this is wrong and his touch is unwelcome, he reaches out and curls his fingers around hers. Molly squeezes her eyes shut, her brows furrow. His touch is unwelcome. It's like a punch in his gut. Just when he is trying to let go, she turns her head in his direction and opens her eyes.  
"What if she's right? What if I can't be a good wife to you? I've never run a household before, never cared to learn...what if I can't make you happy?"  
A hot white flash of pain shoots through him and on a reflex he cups her cheek with his free hand.

As if on cue, Mary rises and leaves the room. Sherlock only notices from the rustling of her skirt. All his other senses are fixed on his bride. Before he can form words or even a clear thought, he has to kiss her. He tries to be gentle, to brush his lips over hers tenderly, but the grip around her neck is tight and his tongue spears into her mouth, the urge to taste her uncontrollable. Molly's tongue greets him eagerly and they tangle, stroke and lick, deep and slow. Their breaths are hot on their cheeks. Molly lets her fingers wander into the hair in the nape of his neck and the familiarty of this feeling makes Sherlock pull her close against him, closer, closer.  
With a loving kiss on her lips he leans back and takes her with him, pulling her upper body against his and bedding her head on his chest. With closed eyes he holds her, soaking up her warmth and breathing her scent.  
"This. This is all I need," he whispers into her hair, "you letting me hold you. I've never been happier than with you in my arms."  
Molly wraps her arms around his back and buries her face in his shirt. It makes him ridiculously happy to comfort her.  
"Let's go to Gretna. I can't stand this anymore. I can't live there anymore. I want to be with you. You understand me. You love me as I am. I'm so grateful for it, Sherlock. Thank you for loving me."  
Sherlock hears her sniff and pulls her even closer, his hands roaming her back and gently massaging her neck.  
"Three more months, Molly, and nothing will separate us ever again. We will start our life together. No one can tell us what to do. It's our life and we decide how we live it."  
She sniffs again.  
"Three months is such a long way away..."  
"I know it feels that way. But we're already half-way there, darling. We will make it all the way through, prove everyone wrong who doubts us. We will stand before our families proudly and bound ourselves to one another - and they will be happy for us because even though they don't understand us, we understand us. And they know that this is all that matters."  
They hold on to each other with closed eyes, grateful that they found one another. Sherlock runs his fingers through her hair, careful not to mess up her updo.  
He smiles when Molly lets out a hum that seems to come from the very depths of her soul.  
"Everything is so much easier when I'm in your arms. It already is my favorite place in the world. You're so warm and smell so marvelous. And your heartbeat is strong and soothing."  
She moves her head until her ear is right above his heart. Once again Sherlock combs his fingers through her silky strands, then only the fingertips over the shell of her ear to caress her neck.  
"Continue this for next three months, please."  
"Anything for you, Molly mine."  
And he repeats his caress. Molly pushes her arms underneath him and flattens her hands on the small of his back. They stay like this for a long while. At one point Mary peeks into the room and as she sees them, gives Sherlock a smile that tells him she's proud of him with a look. He smiles back and when she waves goodnight, he nods.

  
For the second time, Molly and Sherlock are the last people who are awake in the Watsons' house. It has become a safe space for him and Molly to be together and Sherlock is so grateful for the friendship of the Watsons. They always have his back. They are family. And Molly is, too. A feeling of contentment, which he has learnt to identify thanks to his bride, settles in him and he closes his eyes.  
"I love you", he whispers into her hair and rests his cheek on top of her head.  
When she doesn't say it back, he thinks she's fallen asleep, but then her arms wind tighter around him.  
"Say it again."  
He smiles and obliges.  
"One more time, please."  
With a chuckle he tilts up her chin with his finger. He lowers his head and with his mouth brushing against hers, he says it again. Molly gasps against his lips and trembles. Sherlock smirks, but when her eyes meet his and he sees the sensual glow, the smirk dies and it is his turn to tremble when she speaks.  
"I want you to do this on every part of my body in our wedding night. Promise."  
He gulps, fighting down a sudden, rising arousal. So many images behind his eyes.  
"I promise", he replies huskily and then Molly scoots up. The weight on his upper body is thrilling but Sherlock's moan is stifled by Molly's lips. They melt together from lip to hip and he sinks further into the cushions as Molly pushes her tongue deep into his mouth, stroking his so tenderly that Sherlock lets out a sound he's never heard before. Molly giggles against his mouth and leans back to look at him.  
"You think you can seduce me that easily", he croaks defensively. As if to prove a point she lets her fingers comb through his hair, the nails scratching his skull. Against his will his eyelids flutter. Another giggle answered with another glare. Sherlock is embarrassed until her features soften and her hand cups his cheek.  
"I can't believe that I can...that someone as beautiful as you reacts to my kiss like this."  
Now she is being all innocence and shyness again. Oh, this woman is driving him mad.  
  
Molly squeals when Sherlock grabs her and whirls her around so she is lying on the sofa - and he half on top on her.  
"Darling, by now you should know how much you arouse me. My divine, captivating, sensual wife. I've never wanted anyone as much as I want you."  
"...hence the proposal", she comments wittily but he only gives her a look to be quiet and then quiets her himself with a deep kiss that makes her breathless. Their limbs and tongues are heavily entangled when they hear a key turn in the lock of the front door.  
"Watson", Sherlock groans but Molly is already pushing him off of her. She jumps up and pulls him with her to stand behind the open parlour door. Sherlock snuggles against her, shielding her from a possible discovery. Footsteps approach, halt in the doorway.  
"Please extinguish the lights and bring her home safe...and behave, Holmes."  
The footsteps make their way up the stairs, in the distance they hear a door open and close. Molly lets out a breath. Her cheeks are glowing. Sherlock cups her face and makes her look at him.  
"Don't be embarrassed. Watson is just grumpy and tired."  
"Two times we took advantage of their trust in us."  
"They trust us because they understand, Molly. And they know we wouldn't misuse their faith in us."  
"Didn't we just do this?"  
"Molly..." Sherlock leans down and kisses her tenderly. "We only reveled in the freedom they gave us."  
She looks at him, her fingers brushing over the soft skin of his wrist, then she smiles and nods. He smiles back and they melt together for another loving kiss.  
"We have the most generous friends."  
"Yes, we do."  
Another shared smile and Sherlock brushes a strand of hair out of her face.  
"Let's get you home, Miss Hooper. It's very late and your mother must be worried."  
Molly rolls her eyes.  
"You had to bring her up, hadn't you?"  
"I need you to be upset so you will decline my invitation to spend the night at Baker Street."  
At that, she laughs and hugs him.

Sherlock takes her home like a true gentleman; one who insists on their agreed kiss goodnight.

 


	8. Sibling rivalry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little jealousy, a walk, discussion about future children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short, but sweet. Hope you agree

From this night forward, Sherlock calls on Molly every day. Since things are so tense between her and her mother, he thinks it's best to get her out of the house as often as possible. Mrs. Hooper is displeased, as expected. But Molly goes with him, anyway. Sherlock is her future and she belongs with him now. Her mother has to accept this eventually.   
  
He tries to distract her with museums, galleries, trips to the Crystal palace, concerts and even operettas. When the weather makes an outing unfavorable, they spend a lot of time with the Watsons - or his parents, surprisingly enough. Molly's spirits improve and Sherlock couldn't be happier. His mother lays her hand on his forearm during one of their family brunches and smiles up at him.   
"Mary told me what you are doing for her."  
Sherlock stiffens slightly, not trusting the softness in his mother's eyes.  
"You are so good to her. I'm so proud of you, Sherlock."  
There is a knot in his throat, so he just smiles and nods.   
"I am sure in time Mrs. Hooper will see it, too."  
At that, Sherlock snorts.   
"Don't hold your breath."  
Mrs. Holmes laughs.   
"Just be polite to her and cherish her daughter. Eventually, she will change her mind."  
"Be ensured, mother, that I will do nothing that would jeopardize the wedding. Molly will be my wife in two months and two weeks."  
Mrs. Holmes smiles and pats her son's cheek. Then she walks over to Molly and converses with her.   
The women get along well. Sherlock is glad about it. Then again, Molly gets along with everybody (except for her own mother; and even this dispute is only temporary). Even with Mycroft. He can't help the slight sting of jealousy when he sees them together. Mycroft making her laugh sends a surge of jealousy through his system. He doesn't really understand why. Mycroft is utterly devoted to Anthea and he would never betray her. And of course, Molly is utterly devoted to him. Sherlock doesn't question this at all.  
After some contemplation he decides that it must be the sibling rivalry that they struggled with their entire life. Yet, he often joins them during their conversation and always finds an excuse to separate them.

  
  


One afternoon, as Sherlock and Molly walk through the park after tea with his family, Molly comments on his behaviour.   
"I know what you are doing", she initiates.   
"What do you mean?"  
"There is aboslutely no reason to be jealous, Sherlock."  
He stiffens and averts his eyes.   
"Mycroft loves his wife. And I love my consulting detective."  
He glances and smirks at her. As he sees the warm glow in her eyes, he exhales.   
"I know it's irrational. I've come to the conclusion that it's sibling rivalry. It has separated us ever since we began."  
"I don't believe that's true. Of course siblings compete sometimes, but there is always a reason. Has Mycroft gotten more presents? Did you have to wear the clothes he'd grown out of?"  
Sherlock chuckles.   
"What?"  
"You're so interested."  
"Of course I am. I never had brothers or sisters, but I would have loved it. I would have felt less alone, I think. Tom was my only true friend. Weren't you happy to have always someone to play with?"  
Sherlock laughs.  
"Mycroft never played. He was born an adult. I only ever played with Eurus and, well, I've told you already what sort of games she preferred."  
Molly's grip around his upper arm instantly tightens. She squeezes his biceps comfortingly and he covers her hand with his for a moment to tell her that he is fine.   
"We definitely have to have more than one child."  
"Or we could let our only child play with Rosie."  
She makes him stop. Her eyes are big.   
"Do you not want several children anymore?"  
With a gentle smile he strokes her cheek with the back of his hand.  
"Of course I do, darling. I just presented an alternative...in case you don't want to go through child birth again...or if there are complications."  
Their hold on each other tightens. Child birth is something that happens every day in this world; but it is still so dangerous for mother and child. Medicine has improved of course, but deep down Sherlock worries that something might go wrong - and she isn't even pregnant yet. Maybe she never will. Maybe he cannot give her the children she desires. Thoughts like these usually only plague him in the darkness of night. In the bright light of day, they make him even more uneasy.   
As if she feels his fear, Molly interlaces her fingers with his and steps close to him; too close for the public eye, but neither of them cares at the moment.  
"Everything will be fine, Sherlock. We will have a beautiful, healthy family."  
He smiles down at her, stroking the back of her gloved hand with his gloved thumb.   
"We haven't even done anything that could make you pregnant", he jests and she giggles. "But I admit I worry already."  
"Then stop", she tells him softly, but firmly. "Focus on the impregnation, first.“ His eyes widen at her blunt words. „After you succeeded I will allow you to worry...one day a week."  
Sherlock chuckles and pulls her into a loving embrace.  
"Sherlock", Molly warns, glancing around them.   
"Indulge me."  
The sound of his voice makes her look up. Her eyes instantly soften and she stands up on her tiptoes to meet his lips for a lingering, tender kiss.   
"Feeling better?" she asks softly and strokes his cheek.   
"Yes."  
They share a smile, then they bring an appropriate distance between them and continue their walk, chatting about anything but children.

 


	9. Take my heart and keep it safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly's mother does something terrible. Molly panics and hurts the man she loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite the emotional roller coaster. Getting quite syrupy at the end. Sorry not sorry.

A couple of days later, Molly is very upset when he calls on her.  
"Molly!"  
Her mother hurries after her as she more or less is running for the door, both Hooper women looking angry.  
"Take me away from here, Sherlock. Now!"  
Before he has a chance to greet Mrs. Hooper, Molly takes his gloved hand and pulls him away, dragging him down the stairs and away from the house. Her mother calls after her again, but Molly only walks faster.  
Sherlock is very confused, but catches up with her. As soon as they rounded the corner though, he stops her.  
"Molly, what happened?"  
His fiancée sobs and paces back and forth, her arms gesturing as she tries to calm herself. Then she looks at him and before he knows she crushes her body against him and slings her arms around his neck. His top hat falls off as she presses her mouth against his. Her kiss is hard and desperate.  
Footsteps and voices in the distance. Sherlock pulls her away from him.  
"Molly, stop."  
Taking her hand he bends down to pick up his hat, just in time when a couple of women round the corner, coming into their direction. They eye Molly curiously, for she is neither wearing jacket, hat nor gloves, she's not even wearing an outdoor dress, just a striped chemise and a brown skirt. The lack of propriety in her dressing has them giggling and Sherlock doesn't even want to know what they are thinking of her. Hastily he pulls off his coat and wraps it around his Molly, shielding her from these vicious harpies. Molly doesn't even notice that she is an object of ridicule. She slings Sherlock's coat around her tightly and inhales his lingering scent with closed eyes. Sherlock observes her and pulls off his gloves, putting them in his coat pocket so he can touch her cheeks and lift up her chin. The tears and the expression in her big brown eyes worry him.  
"Let's get you into a carriage."  
He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close as he hurries down the street until they find one. He gives the driver his address as he helps Molly to climb into it.  
"No. 56 Wimpole Street, please", she says with a shaking voice and climbs into the carriage. He follows her, deducing what is upsetting her.  
"You found a house and your mother doesn't approve."  
Her face crumbles and she starts crying. Sherlock watches in horror for a second. It hurts so bloody much to see her in pain.  
"Darling", he breathes and pulls her into his arms. Molly buries her head in his chest and curls her hands around the lapels of his waistcoat. For a minute she cries and he suffers, then she suddenly kisses her way up his throat. Her lips are wet, yet he shivers. He's confused.  
"Sherlock", she whispers desperately against his jaw and before he knows his hat falls off his head again as she grabs his neck and pulls him down to her. Not just to her. She leans back onto the seat and pulls him down with her; on top of her.  
"Molly, stop", he whispers hoarsely, his body reacting to her hard kisses and her arching body underneath him. She's wearing too little layers, he can feel too much of her body, he thinks desperately and pushes a hand against the window to lift himself off of her, but she pulls and kisses him even harder, spearing her delicious tongue into his mouth.  
Sherlock groans as pleasure and a new form of arousal rush through him. It seems like her desperation is affecting him. His head is filling with such a need for her and suddenly he's kissing her even harder. Their tongues are clashing, tangling, brushing, tasting, inside either mouth and even outside. Never has he kissed like this; it feels dirty and wrong, yet he can't stop. Pure, animalistic lust is flowing hotly through his veins.

  
He wants to claim her, possess her, compromise her, make her his; right now, right here.  
  
Hastily now, he secures his footing by pressing the side of his foot against the other bench and his knee on the bench they're lying on, thigh pressed against the backrest of the bench. And then, God help him, he reaches down and hastily gathers her skirts in his hands, pushing them up, up, over her thighs, exposing her drawers to his greedy eyes. So long has he waited, dreamt of this moment. With another growl he reclaims her mouth for a hungry kiss and pushes her legs apart to settle between them. Molly moans loudly when he presses his aching length firmly against her centre. Instantly his hand grips her hair. She won't get away.  


_She will be mine_  
  
_Now_  
  
_Only mine_  
  
  
Hours later, as he lies in his bed alone and reviews this horrid incident, he will fully realise that if the hole in the street hadn't jolted the carriage so hard he lost his footing, he would have taken her virginity right there in the carriage, as if she was some wench and not the love of his life. But the hole is there, saving him from making what probably would have been the biggest mistake of his life. He tumbles off of her onto the floor, hitting his knee and his elbow on the edge of the bench. He curses.  
"Sherlock!"  
Molly sits up, reaching out for him. He takes her offered hands to pull himself up and onto the opposite bench. With a heaving chest he stares at her, the horror of the last minute finally reaching his brain. Molly sits across from him, hair messed up, lips swollen, blouse buttoned down to her corset (he has no recollection of unbottoning it) - and her skirt still hiked up above her knees, her white linen drawers showing.  
"Pull down your skirt. I beg you."  
He closes his eyes and swallows down her taste. The rustling of her skirts is a blessing. It helps him to calm down the storm of lust inside of him.  
"I'm so sorry."  
Sherlock opens his eyes. His heart clenches when he sees Molly huddled in the corner, hands in her lap, legs pressed together. She has rebuttoned her blouse and tried to rearrange her hairstyle. A few strands are still falling down her shoulders, however. She doesn't look at him.  
"Tell me what just happened here", he orders her, his voice still hoarse.  
Molly shrinks into herself.  
The long pause until she spoke was deafening.  
"I tried to seduce you."  
Her almost whisper doesn't lessen the pain that stabs his heart.  
"Why?" he asks breathlessly.  
She flinches in her seat.  
"Because...Because I wanted to trick you into going to Gretna."  
She covers her face with her hands in shame, sobbing.  
  
He feels betrayed, he can't help it. And he feels ashamed on her behalf.

This isn't the Molly he knows and loves.  
"Here, in the carriage? Without meaning? Without feeling?"  
She winces again, wipes her eyes and winds her arms around herself, staring at her skirt.  
"Why?" he asks her, his chest tight.  
Instead of answering she looks out of the window, a few more silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Sherlock waits and observes her. She looks so exhausted, beaten even. He doesn't understand. She was fine yesterday, laughed, joked and flirted with him. It's been less than 24 hours, yet it looks like there is an entirely different woman in front of him now. After a few more silent moments in the rattling carriage, Molly licks her lips. Sherlock holds his breath.  
"I'm so very tired of all of this. I can't go through this again..."  
She shakes her head, her brows knitting and Sherlock fears she will cry again, but she swallows down her tears bravely.  
"We fought so much during my teenage years. I felt so misunderstood and so bloody alone at times. I tried so hard to please her, but nothing ever would. It only made her ridicule me for my failed attempts. It hurt so much not being able to be myself in front of my very own mother...this elementary need of motherly approval never fulfilled. It destroyed something between us...and it left a hole in my very soul. Back then, father was there to cushion her blows. He comforted me, distracted me with medical lectures and books, or simply listened when I needed to vent. He was my protector. With him I could be who I am...and he loved what he saw."  
She sobs and closes her eyes for a moment, her bottom lip trembling. Sherlock wants to cross the distance between them and take her in his arms and never let go. He feels her pain as if it is his own. He understands, having felt this particular pain himself in his youth more than once. But obviously, it had affected her in her development much more than him in his. The scar of parental rejection had stopped itching a long time ago. Apparently, her wound hasn't even closed - or has been ripped open again.  
"But now father's gone and...I can't fend her off by myself. I feel so foolish. I'm 26, for heaven's sake. It shouldn't hurt anymore, I should be able to shield myself from the pain. But her words..." she closes her eyes and her entire body winces. Her voice is breaking when she continues, "her words are piercing my heart. She trickles her poison into it and...I start to doubt..."  
The blood in Sherlock's veins runs cold and when she glances at him with her eyes red and full of tears, fear grips his heart.  
"My mind knows that she doesn't understand, that she doesn't know you - or me, for that matter - but my heart-"  
She buries her face in her hands and weeps. Once again he wants to go to her, but his body is too tense to move. He can just stare at her, his own eyes wet, hands clawed into the bench, listening to her telling him that she doubts him, his sincerity; his love for her.  
"My heart is echoing her words and whispers...tells me that someone as brilliant and beautiful as you could never fall for someone like me, that it will not last, that sooner or later you'll get bored, feel trapped...and then you'll leave me and it will never stop hurting-"  
Making a noise that is pure panic he dashes forward, his entire body hurting, his hands shaking and his chest heaving.  
"Stop! Please, stop!"  
He can't listen anymore. Everything inside him screams to hold on to her, to press her against him, to never let her go. So he does exactly this, presses his forehead against hers, trying to fight down this icy fear of losing her.  
"I wish", he presses urgently, "I wish I could take your hand, press it to my heart and make you feel what I feel."  
He indeed takes her hand, this beloved little hand, and lays it on his chest, covering it with his hand and presses hard.  
"Can you feel me?" he rumbles and his eyes burn into hers when she finally looks at him and nods.  
"Every single beat...it's yours, Molly. I've told you, tried to show you...I don't know what else to do, how to make you trust this heart...it's yours...Molly mine, tell me what to do...please, I-"  
The words get stuck in his throat, can't get past the knot. Tears are blurring his vision. Every beat against her hand begs her not to leave, to stay, to believe in him, to love him. She looks at him with big, dark, frightened, insecure eyes. He holds her gaze, the tears swimming in his eyes but not falling. Sherlock doesn't now what to say. So many times has he sworn his love, has been more open to her than to anyone else. It frightens him that she still needs more, because he is not sure he can give it. His emotions are so intense, so intertwined with his very being. He is hurting so much already, what if he lays bare his soul and it still won't be enough?

  
Molly could destroy him, he realises, pressing her hand to his heart and looking into her dark eyes... And it is just the same for her.  
  
Suddenly, everything falls into place. His eyes widen as he understands. Understands just how deep this love between them reaches - and understands why she hesitates to trust him. Four years has he pushed her away and verbally abused her, has given her nothing. How dare he ask her to trust him after this?! A few months can't erase all the pain he has caused, all those times he has coldly rejected her.  
  
He has scarred her, too.  
  
Maybe too much.  
  
Maybe forever.

  
...No, no, he doesn't want to believe that. Scars can heal. It might take years, but the tissue can be restored with enough care and devotion. And he wants to erase every single scar he has left on her heart and soul. He believes he can succeed...if she finds the strength to trust him. But the only way to achieve this is to put himself completely at her mercy, to hand her a knife and kneel in front of her, open his shirt and lay his chest bare for her.  
  
_She could destroy me_  
  
But she never would. He could place his heart in her hands and it would be just as safe as in his very own chest. She would take better care of it than he ever has.  
At this thought, he smiles softly and lifts his free hand to graze the side of her face with his fingertips.  
"I understand that you are frightened. I'm frightened, too. For the very same reasons...I look at you and know that this will never go away, that I will adore you until I draw my last breath. Your name is woven into my soul...I would do anything for you."  
His gaze is intense as he whispers these words, meaning every single one. He would. He would kill for her...even himself, if that was what she wanted.  
"When I'm with you, I can be myself completely, I don't have to be strong or clever. You love what is underneath all that; all the fears and needs and longings that I was afraid of; still am. You can see how weak I am underneath my layers, you can see the fear to be loved and to disappoint, you can see the longing to be loved, to be held and protected...you've seen it all along, even if you had no idea that I wanted to be loved by you; Molly Hooper...the best of all of us."  
At that, Molly winces, self-conciousness and his former coldness making her shy away. But Sherlock holds her tight and makes her look at him.  
"You are the strongest woman I know. I've never met anyone who loves so openly, so fearlessly, so selflessly. You taught me that love is strength, not weakness. And I want to love you like this, I want to be so brave for you. I want to cherish and adore you until every last bit of doubt is erased from your mind. I want to make you feel as beautiful as you truly are. So very beautiful..."  
His eyes trail over her face, drinking the beauty that radiates from her eyes and body.  
"I want to give you all of me until you don't remember where you end and I begin...but there is so much pain in me, Molly. I don't want you to feel that...I don't want to diminish your light with my darkness. The mere thought feels like sin. You deserve nothing but happiness. I want to be the lover you deserve. But am I? My tempers, my fears, my ever racing mind...sometimes I struggle to keep them in check. Who knows that more than you?" he tries to joke, but Molly doesn't smile.  
"I wish I could swear to you that I will never hurt you again. I want nothing more. But I'm a broken man. All I can swear is that I will try. Every day, every minute, every second. I will try to become the man you deserve. I will fight for your love with all I have, because I want it more than anything. I want you by my side. In my arms. I want your heart and I want you to have mine. But I need time, Molly. Please, give me time to make you trust this heart."  
  
Molly's eyes lower to her hand still pressed against his chest. She feels his heart beating strongly underneath her palm. Sherlock's eyes are fixed on her face until he feels her fingers brush over his knuckles. He looks down and watches how she takes his hand and lifts it up. His lips part when she looks at him and presses his palm against her chest, until he can feel her heartbeat through the fabric of the corset and her blouse. Sherlock doubts it's very comfortable for her and wants to ease the pressure, but her small hand insists. Molly's eyes fall close and he gives into the sensation of her touch and her heartbeat, as well. The rest of the drive is spent in this position and with every beat of their hearts, the faith in each other's love is restored and strengthened.  
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock. That I doubt you. That I tried to trick you...I'm so ashamed."  
He slowly shakes his head and softly kisses her lips.  
"I've made so many mistakes. You are allowed to make some, yourself."  
She kisses him just as softly.  
"I can't go back to her."  
"I know."  
They kiss again, their lips lingering.  
"I will drop you off at the Watsons' and fetch some clothes for you."  
"Are you sure?"  
He smirks at her.  
"Your mother doesn't scare me."  
"She does a bit."  
They share a smile.  
"Not as much as my own mother."  
She giggles and this sound is so very lovely that his chest feels lighter, immediately.

  


Eventually, the carriage halts. When the driver announces the address, Molly stiffens. So, there is more, apparently. Wordlessly, Molly climbs out of the carriage, reaching for his coat, Sherlock following her. She looks up at the house, the front an elegant white, a black iron fence and a little front garden. Three floors, large windows.  
"I fell in love with this house immediately. It would have been perfect for us. Enough rooms for a little family, large study and a wine cellar we could have turned into a laboratory. The master bedroom faces South East. We would have woken with the sun in our eyes, the light perfect for drawing."  
"We don't need your mother's permission to buy a house, Molly. If you want it, it's yours."  
Tears well up in her eyes again.  
"It's sold. Mother didn't make the payment to the estate agent, so he sold to someone else. I trusted her to keep her word, but she didn't...I found out this morning, before you came."  
"Why?"  
"Because she still believes you won't marry me and didn't want to waste the dowry. She is waiting for you to break the engagement, so that I am free for Tom. The dowry is for him."  
Anger flares up in Sherlock, his entire body stiffens. One last look at the house, then he whirls around and gives the driver Watson's address.  
"Darling", he says softly and takes her hand, suppressing his anger to not fuel hers. She follows him, her cheeks wet, and he pulls her into his arms. She rests her head on his chest and listens to his heartbeat for the duration of the drive. He doesn't bring her to the door, but she doesn't seem to mind.  
  
Now that he's alone in the carriage, it's harder to control his anger. It is one thing not to like him. He has accepted that. Not many people like him; never makes much effort to be liked. He even has accepted that Mrs. Hooper doesn't respect him. But what he will never tolerate is the disrespect for her daughter's choice for a husband. Neither will he tolerate that she actively tries to sabotage her own daughter's happiness.  
  


When he finally reaches Molly's parental home, he jumps out of the carriage, coat billowing, hat firmly in place, and strides to the door.  
Molly's maid opens.  
"Ah, Anna, perfect. Miss Hooper will be guest of the Watsons' for the next couple of days, so please pack a trunk. Quickly, if you would be so good."  
Sherlock sees a look of relief in the young woman's face. She nods and is hurrying up the stairs when Mrs. Hooper stops her.  
"Where is my daughter?"  
Her icy tone only makes him angrier and he straightens, folding his hands in his back and masking his face with the typical Holmes arrogance.  
"I have brought her to the Watsons'...after she has shown me the house we have lost, thanks to you."  
At least that woman has the decency to avert her eyes for a moment.  
"Enlighten me, Mrs. Hooper, for I have always wondered this about parental behaviour and frankly, I can't ask my own mother: Why do parents enjoy hurting their children so much? Does it give you some sort of maternal validation to destroy your daughter's dream, to mock and belittle her for what she is and what she desires? Does it come from a primal need for superiority? Or is it just a desperate, twisted attempt to prevent the offspring to leave?"  
Mrs. Hooper glares daggers at him. But he is not done.  
"I thought you an intelligent woman. You must know that your actions will only drive her further away from you - have driven her away. Now you will be alone sooner than would have been necessary. I doubt that this was your intention. In spite of it all I believe you love your only child."  
"Of course I do", she bites back. "I am only trying to protect her from you."  
He quirks an eyebrow.  
"Well, you're doing it poorly, for every time you hurt her, you only drive her further into my arms. I intend to care for and heal every wound you inflict on my fiancée. Be warned that I will keep a record and every further pain you will inflict will delay the visit after the wedding."  
"So now you're threatening to keep her away from me?"  
"Mrs. Hooper, you are ensuring the distance all by yourself. I don't have to do anything. But once she is my wife I will encourage her to avoid any situation that will give her nothing but pain."  
"How dare you speak to me like this?! You know nothing of the relationship between me and my daughter!"  
"And you know nothing of the relationship between your daughter and me."  
Just as deadly silence fills the room, the maid and the butler are coming down the stairs, the butler carrying Molly's trunk, the maid carrying a worn bag - her own.  
"I'm ready, sir", Anna announces bravely, glancing at Mrs. Hooper for a second.  
Sherlock waits for her mother to protest, but she says nothing, just turns around and climbs the stairs. Sherlock leaves.  
  
In the carriage, Anna nervously plays with the handles of her bag, which she presses to her front.  
"If Mrs. Hooper should refuse to pay you, I will be happy to do so."  
She flinches at his voice and Sherlock looks her over quickly. Barely 19 she is, from a poor family, malnutrition in her youth. Violent father. Molly has told him that, he now recollects. Her friend Meena has taken care of her after she had been brought in by her mother, severely beaten. The mother had tried to protect her child and had suffered some bruises herself. She had begged Meena to help her, Meena had told Molly...and the rest was history. Molly has probably saved her life, or at least from living on the street. According to Molly, Anna is a cheerful, clever girl, very skilled with a needle and very organised. Molly loves her to bits.  
"Molly will be happy to see you", he ensures her, making the girl flinch again. "I'm not that frightening, am I?" he asks, irritated.  
Anna's eyes widen.  
"Oh, no, sir, forgive me, sir, I...I'm just not very good at talking to strangers."  
"Neither am I", Sherlock mumbles. Glad that Anna doesn't insist on inane chit chat, he looks out the window. It's silent for many minutes and he senses how Anna slowly relaxes.  
"Thank you, sir. For getting her out the house. She's been so unhappy. Never seen her like this. These days she only smiles when you call."  
His lips twitch into a smile.  
"Had she told me how bad things were, I would have taken her away sooner."  
"That's what I told her", she says excitedly. "But she didn't listen. Said she didn't want to be a burden. She always thinks too much of others and too little of herself."  
Sherlock nods in agreement and they share a smile. Anna's big blue eyes observe him curiously now.  
"You will take good care of her, won't you?"  
He blinks. Apparently, once the shyness is overcome, Anna is a brazen little thing.  
"I promise", he replies.  
Anna just nods and looks out of the window.  
Sherlock can't help but smile as he does the same.  
When they finally arrive at their destination, he helps Anna out of the carriage. The driver carries Molly's trunk to the door.  
"Tell Miss Hooper I'm going to call on her tomorrow. And tell Mrs. Watson to expect me for dinner."  
"Yes, sir."  
With a nod, he climbs back into the carriage, looking at the familiar house, hoping to spot his love at a window.  
"Where to now, sir?" does the driver ask as he returns. Sherlock gives him the address and on they rattle through the streets of London, to his brother's residence.

  
~oOo~  
  


"Sherlock. Quite a surprise", his brother greets him in his typical cool manner.  
"I need a favour."  
An eyebrow rises in interest and the blue eyes gleam with anticipation.  
"56 Wimpole Street. Sold this morning. I need you to change the buyer's mind. Or the estate agent's."  
Mycroft takes a deep, dramatic breath. Before he can rant on about how he holds only a minor position in the government and things like this are delicate and so forth, arguments Sherlock has heard so many times, used to throw a leash around his neck, he interrupts him. For the first time, Sherlock puts on the leash himself.  
"Molly has set her heart on it but her mother hasn't made the payment. She is sad, Mycroft. I don't like seeing her sad. Whatever it is you want me to do, consider it done."  
To Sherlock's surprise, Mycroft watches him for a long moment in utter silence. The arrogant eyebrow has returned to its place and his eyes lack the spark of triumph. Once again he inhales and folds his hands on his back.  
"Curious, isn't it? How another person's tears can affect oneself?"  
Sherlock blinks and can't help a little frown.  
"Yes."  
"I was quite unsettled by it at the beginning of my marriage. There weren't tears, of course, Anthea way too proud back then. But even though I hardly knew her, I...sensed her unhappiness. Couldn't identify it at first, thought I was coming down with a cold or worse," Sherlock can't help but chuckle at this, "yet it made me very uncomfortable for weeks. Does it feel like an extra weight on your chest, as well?"  
Scientific curiosity. Of course. It wakes his own and Sherlock decides that, since his brother has opened up to him, he might as well.  
"More like a tightness, making it more difficult to breathe."  
Mycroft nods in agreement.  
"Worsened by actual tears?" he asks curiously.  
"Oh, definitely. Tears make everything so dramatic."  
The brothers nod eagerly...and share a moment of relaxed silence. Such a rarity.  
"Which symptons helped you diagnose that you were emotionally attached, in the end?" Sherlock inquires.  
"Lack of apetite."  
"Of course."  
The brothers look at each other. Small smiles grow into a pair of boyish grins.  
"Do you ever tell her that you love her?" The question just slipped out of Sherlock's mouth. All his life, Mycroft has been so strictly set against love that he imagines that it must have been quite difficult for him to accept that he was very much in love with his wife.  
"Constantly."  
"Seriously?"  
"You'd be appalled."  
Sherlock laughs. Then another question rises, of such serious nature that his smile dies.  
"If you could choose...would you choose not to love her?"  
A very long moment of silence. Sherlock feels like he hasn't felt in a long time; insecure, seeking help and advice from his older, much wiser brother. The air around them is heavy, both feeling the brotherly intimacy they last had shared on a street in the dark.  
"No", Mycroft finally says and Sherlock's inside churn for a moment. Some pieces fall and toggle about...and fall into place much more secure than before.  
  
Love is a weakness - but one worth having.  
  
"Will you help me?"  
"Yes. And I won't ask for anything in return."  
Sherlock is shocked. The arrogant eyebrow of the older Holmes crawls up on his forehead.  
"Consider it your wedding gift, brother mine."

 


	10. Painting our future, painting our bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock surprises Molly with their house. They're all alone. Buttons are undone, lips find skin.

A week and a half later, Mycroft visits Sherlock at Baker Street, handing over the keys to 56 Wimpole Street. In a moment of utter gratitude, Sherlock wants to hug him. He doesn't, of course. It would be Mycroft's death, for sure. Instead he shakes his hand and thanks him, a brotherly smile on his face.   
Since Molly is out with Meena for the day, Sherlock has to wait 16 long hours before he can surprise her. He is giddy and impatient like a little boy, but he makes it through the night and stands on the Watsons' porch 10 am, sharp.   
They have breakfast together, Sherlock holding Molly's hand under the table, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. Molly smiles and laughs and holds Rosie's toast – who is sitting on her lap - with her free hand while she attempts to cut it herself.  
"Careful, darling", John says, having a keen eye on the big knife in the little girl's hand.  
"I can do it, Papa!"  
"Of course you can, dear", he reassures her and Mary lays a proud hand on his arm.   
There is jubilation and applause when Rosie cuts her slice of toast into three uneven pieces. But the girl is not done until she has smeared honey on each piece, almost as much on herself and Molly's fingers as on the toast, but they cheer her, anyway. Rosie looks so proud and munches with swinging legs; it melts Sherlock's heart. She is absolutely gorgeous, his goddaughter.   
"Will we board the ship today, Yellowbeard?"  
"Afraid not, Captain. Me and Lieutenant Skullface have an appointment."  
"Oh?" Molly asks and waits for him to elaborate, but he just grins at her and brushes his thumb over her knuckles one more time.   
"Is it a secret?" Rosie gasps excitedly and Sherlock grins at her conspiratorially.   
"Indeed."  
"Oooh, I want to go!"  
The adults share a knowing smile at the nosy little girl.   
  
With the breakfast over, Rosie has nothing on her mind but the secret trip. So does Molly, but she hides it infinitely better than her goddaughter. Yet, Sherlock sees her fidgeting out of the corners of his eyes. Her excitment, combined with Rosie's, infects him. He has ordered the carriage for 3pm so they will have the best lighting when they stand in front of the house. When it's finally time, he's as animated as his goddaughter and takes his fiancée by her delicate hand and pulls her up, out of the house and into the carriage.   
"Where are you taking me, Navigator Yellowbeard?" Molly giggles and her eyes brighten when he pulls her onto his lap and wraps one arm around her while his free hand shuts the red window curtains.   
"You'll have to wait and see."  
They are on eye level now and stare at each other. Molly's eyes soften and her arms slide around his shoulders. Sherlock shivers when her fingers brush up his neck to wander into his hair.   
"Thank you, Sherlock."  
"You don't even know what it is, yet."  
A soft giggle that warms his heart.   
"I don't just mean the surprise, but everything else you've done. You saved me. Staying with the Watsons does me a world of good. And you're so wonderful, so attentive and kind and sweet. I think I've fallen even more in love with you these last few days. I had no idea there was such a charming, flirty gentleman underneath the cool exterior."  
He pulls her closer until their faces are mere inches apart.   
"Neither did I. It appears you bring it out in me."  
His hand gently strokes her back. The jasmine has filled his nose and he revels in her warmth. Her weight on his thighs is enchanting. And the pure love that shines from her dark eyes makes his heart swell to twice its size.   
"How much longer is the drive?"  
"About fifteen minutes."  
"Hmmm...", a shiver runs down his spine when she shifts even closer and her fingers run further up his scalp, removing his hat in a surprisingly seductive movement. With a thud she tosses it onto the bench beside him.   
"Fifteen minutes...that's a very long time with closed curtains. How could we pass the time? I assume we could play some word games. We could discuss the latest issue of the British Medical Journal...or the latest discoveries in female anatomy-"  
"I swear to God, if you don't kiss me this instant-"  
He never gets to finish his empty threat. They kiss for the entire duration of the drive. It's warm and tender and magnificent. His hands roam her back, shoulders and arms, his fingers send goosebumps over her neck and down her back, but other than that Sherlock is very careful to not spark too much fire between them. The horror of the last time they were in a carriage is lingering on the brink of his mind. It's enticing and frightening what passion this little fairie can ignite in him.

  
~oOo~

  
The carriage slows and they part, foreheads resting together for a moment.   
"I love you", he whispers with his eyes closed. Molly reciprocates softly and her fingers wander down his cheek, her touch feathery, making him shiver. The carriage stops. Sherlock seats Molly on the other bench and reaches into his pocket, his heart increasing its beat. He places the key into her hand, smiling.   
She looks at it for a moment, then she's smiling, too.   
"A key to Baker Street? Are you intending to compromise me, after all?"  
He chuckles and shakes his head, then he opens the door and climbs out, holding his hand out to her. She takes it and is about to follow him when her eyes fall onto the house she's been hoping to share their lives in, and for one moment her face shows nothing but hurt and confusion. For a second her eyes dart to him, almost angry, demanding to know why he puts her through such pain. Sherlock's heart clenches, but his smile is steady and soft and his hand pulls her to stand next to him. Then he waits for her to make the deduction. Her eyes fall on the key in her hand, him still holding the other, and when her head snaps up and her big eyes fill with tears, happiness fills him to the brim and he grins like a mad man.   
"Sherlock", is all she can say as she dashes into his arms, pulling him to her so tightly. She sobs into his coat, trying so hard not to cry, her entire body shaking. He strokes her back and gently sways her from side to side instinctively. Suddenly she leans back and cups his face, the key pressed into his cheek before she becomes aware of it.  
"I...You...How? The estate agent said it was sold."  
"Mycroft. As it turns out it can be useful to have a brother who holds a minor position in the government."  
Finally, she smiles, shining in competition with the sun. A few more tears fall.   
"We will be happy here, I just know it. I will do anything to make you happy, I promise you with all my heart."  
"You are making me happy, Molly. Always."  
She squeals, the joy uncontainable, and hugs him tight once more. Then she grabs his hand and drags him across the pavement, hastily unlocking the small iron gate and a few seconds later the front door of their new home.   
"You will love it, I know you will", she says with so much confidence and opens the door, her hand still clasped around his.

It holds on to him as she shows him one room after another, starting with the ground floor, then the wine cellar. Sherlock stands beside her, fingers still intertwined, and is awestruck by her clear vision of their future laboratory and how she makes him see it with precise explanations, how she has considered his preferences. The occasional ' _you will want to_ ' and ' _I know you like_ ' she includes into her explanations shows him how very well, how thoroughly she knows him.   
When has this happened? How can she know where he wants his desk, the chemicals and the beakers? How can she know that he wants a big metal table with a sink in the middle of the room for experimentation on human body parts? How does she know he has access to such things? He certainly has never mentioned it and he can't picture John telling her. She's only been to Baker Street a couple of times, always in company, never for long, certainly not in the study. Is she really this observant? Has she put all this together just by watching and listening to him?

Is his future wife a mistress of deduction?

Overwhelmed with this revelation, he stops her mid-sentence to kiss her long and deep until she is breathless and leaning against him, her fingers buried in his coat. The first room he kisses her in is the laboratory. It never could have happened anywhere else. Molly sways when he finally leans back and her eyes are wide and sprakling with desire. Sherlock only smiles and caresses her cheek.  
"Sorry, you were saying?"  
She blinks. "Um...ventilation."  
Clearing her throat, she takes a step back and continues her plans for the ventilation of the room. When she finishes, he smiles and nods his approval.  
"You've thought of everything."  
She smiles at him proudly and takes his hand again to lead him back up the stairs and up the other flight of stairs to the first floor.  
"There a two rooms here which, if we break through the wall - not a supporting wall, already made sure - would make a perfect study. High arched windows that flood them with light and an admirable size."  
To watch her explain, gesturing animatedly, is even more interesting than the house. Molly is so confident, so decisive and logical. Sherlock can't help but admire her as he listens to her strong voice, once again being so very grateful that she had kissed him that night. He would have misssed seing her like this and it would have been the tragedy of his life.   
  
  


Molly shows him two more rooms on this floor, much smaller in size, perfect for guest bedrooms. They don't detain them long, however, and are making their way up to the second floor.   
"This is the master bedroom", she says as she steps inside. "Isn't the lighting magnificent? Full-length windows. I've always dreamed of full-length windows."   
Molly smiles and turns around. Sherlock doesn't look, however. His eyes are glued on the only piece of furniture in the entire house - a large four-poster bed, mahogany, beautiful carvings on the arched headboard and along the sunburst canopy.   
"It was built in here, so it is too large to be removed without destroying it. The seller insisted on it being included in the sale and that it should not be harmed. There's an additional paragraph in the contract. It's beautiful, isn't it? A new mattress and bedding and I think we will sleep very well in here. What do you think?"  
Sherlock swallows. There is a tightness in his trousers, his mind torturing him with scenes of them in this bed, doing everything but sleep.   
"I think we will sleep well here", he says and clears his throat as he notices the slight rasp in his voice. Then he takes a deep breath and shakes off the mental image of Molly tied to two of the four uprights and him having his wicked way with her and steps through the open door into the adjoining room, trying not to appear uneasy. Yet, the sight of a bed - their marital bed - has never unsettled him more. Luckily, Molly doesn't seem to notice and follows him. "The nursery", she states and smiles at him, both recollecting the night in which they had discussed their future sleeping arrangements.  
  
 _Never one night apart_  
  
Molly takes him to the remaining three rooms, ideal for their future children, should they make it to three. When all is shown, Molly turns to him, her face a warm, content smile.   
"I love this house. Thank you so much, Sherlock."  
"Anything to make you smile like this."  
She blushes sweetly and he takes a step closer to her.   
"Not much longer than a month now", she softly says. Sherlock comes even closer, warmth spreading in his chest.   
"42 days."  
Molly tilts her head back now that Sherlock is standing right in front of her. The familiar scent of jasmine fills his nose.  
"The house won't be ready until then, though. I assume neither of us is keen on living here with ongoing construction." Her fingertips brush along his knuckles. "I guess I could stay at John and Mary's until everything is ready..."  
His mouth curves into a small smile.   
"You want me to beg you to come to Baker Street, don't you?" he rumbles and leans in. There is only an inch of air between them now.   
"Not beg. But I admit I was hoping for an invitation."  
She smiles up at him and he interlaces his fingers with hers.   
"Then you'll wait in vain, I'm afraid."  
Her eyes widen and her cheeky smile falls away. His other hand moves to the small of her back so he can pull her against him.   
"Once the ceremony's over you will be mine, Molly Hooper. You will go where I go. So naturally, until the house is ready, your place will be at Baker Street, by my side...in my bed."  
Her eyes darken, her lips part.   
"That sounds...very possessive, Mr. Holmes."  
"I am a very possessive man, Miss Hooper. What I desire, I keep close."  
Their fronts are pressed against each other. Molly's hot breath hits his throat.  
"How close?" she whispers and at that he loses it.   
He winds his arms around her and kisses her, holding her tight as his lips move over hers, his tongue spearing her mouth to stroke, lick and tease.   
Molly stands up on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around him, her fingers weaving through his hair, freeing the curls from the pomade. Sherlock moans into her mouth and pulls her closer until she gasps and breaks the kiss.   
  
Panting hard, they stare into each other's eyes. Both of them are thinking of the large bed only a few feet away. Temptation makes them tremble. No one knows where they are, there is no danger of being disturbed. They could become one now, could taste and feel and love each other without restraint and no one would ever know...except themselves. To finally have her in every way, to feel her bare skin against his, underneath him, all around him...dear Lord.   
"We should leave", Sherlock pants; pleads.  
Molly nods, swallows hard. She looks down and takes a small step back, taking his hands in hers. Both of them take a deep breath to clear their heads.   
"Sherlock“, Molly starts softly, „I will return home tomorrow. Mother called yesterday afternoon and we talked. She apologized, for the first time in my life. She wants to spend this last month together...and so do I. My single life will end and I want to say farewell to this life properly. I want to say goodbye to my mother in peace and with love."  
"I understand", he ensures her and squeezes her hands. She's not looking at him, her voice is unsteady, so he thinks she needs reassurance that he is fine with this. Of course he is. But, as it turns out, his consent is not what makes her uneasy. Her thumbs brush over his knuckles as she takes a deep breath.   
"I don't want you to call on me there, Sherlock. We will see each other on Wednesdays and Saturdays at the Watsons'."  
His body stiffens. Instantly her hold on him tightens. Still, no look.   
"I...I want you to take up cases again. London needs you."  
Dark clouds gather above him. They have been here before. He doesn't like being back.   
"Look at me, Molly."  
A second passes, then she reluctantly lifts her eyes.   
"Explain", he instructs her, trying to stay calm, - and she blushes. Then she bites her bottom lip.   
"Well...once we're married, I..." The flush on her cheeks darkens. "I would be very happy if you...would focus your attention solely on me for a while. Only if you want to, of course. Until you get bo-"  
Sherlock silences her with a deep, claiming kiss, arms tightly wound around her neck and back.   
"Stop frightening me, woman", he mumbles angrily against her lips and she giggles.   
"Sorry. I felt so foolish asking this of you. I now see I did it poorly."  
"Apology accepted. And I won't get bored. I'll never get bored of you. You driving me mad is much more plausible."  
Molly giggles again and wraps her arms around him, snuggling close.  
"Mad with happiness, I hope."  
He smiles and pulls her closer, kissing her forehead.   
"I am happy", he ensures her softly.   
"Me too."  
"Although I'm not happy about seeing you only twice a week."  
Molly sighs and buries her face in his chest, inhaling deeply.   
"Me neither. But I think it will be best. Mother will be much more approachable when she doesn't see you every day. Um, I mean-"  
He silences her with another chuckle. They remain standing there in silence for a while, both becoming aware that this will be the last time they will be alone together until they get married.

  
Hands start roaming over fabric, feeling the warmth of skin seeping through. Sherlock rests his cheek on top of her head, rubbing it on her silky hair. He hears her inhale deeply again, then she lifts her face. Sherlock bends down to press his lips gently against hers. Again. Longer. Her lips are soft and warm. He loves her lips. And he loves that she is so confident in making love to him, how she parts her lips and pushes the tip of her wet little tongue against his full bottom lip. Gladly he opens his mouth to her and shivers when the tongue advances and greets his with a loving, sensual stroke. Another shiver runs down his back.   
Once again they melt together and he lets himself fall to a certain degree to enjoy the intimacy of the moment to the fullest. When his blood flows hotly through his veins and the desire for her is simmering, he ends the kiss, holding her close with his hands cupping her face. Their panting breaths mingle and Sherlock keeps his eyes closed, waiting for the arousal to disperse. He feels Molly's hands wander from his back to his front, sliding between their bodies to rest on his chest.   
"Sherlock", she breathes, her lips brushing his. He kisses her tenderly, warm lips lingering. When she leans back further, he finally opens his eyes. Hers are sparkling with need, desire and sensual promises.   
Yet, they don't prepare him for what she says next:   
  
"Please mark me."  
A bolt of lightning shoots through him, instantly hardening his penis. She must have seen the shock on his face, because she curls her fingers into his coat and presses herself against him.   
"I want a reminder that I'm yours. When I'm alone in my room at night, sitting at my dressing table, I want to look into the mirror and see your mark on my bosom...and I want you to do the same."  
"No", he pants, just the thought of her mouth on his skin driving him mad with want.   
"Please, Sherlock."  
Her hands tentatively brush up and down his chest. "It would mean so much to me."  
"Molly", he pleads hoarsely.   
When her little hands start fumbling with a button on his white shirt, he closes his eyes in despair.   
"You said anything", she whispers and the first button slips out of its hole. Sherlock sighs in defeat. He said anything and he meant it. Still, he wraps his hands around her wrists and stops her. A flash of hurt in her eyes. It dies when he replaces her hands with his own and unties his black cravat.   
Molly smiles and watches him unbuttoning his shirt with her big, shining eyes. Sweet, innocent Molly. She has no idea what she is doing to him, how her request arouses him, how desperately he wants her to touch him, how much he fears the effect it will have on him. He doesn't want to lose control again. They are so close to prove all who doubt them wrong. He wants to do this right. He _will_ do this right.   
  
...And then Molly starts to unbutton her jacket.  
His hands freeze. Molly looks up - and continues until her white jacket with the wide green lapels is open. She pulls it off her shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, revealing a white lace high collar blouse.   
Sherlock's heart is pounding hard against the chest, which he is slowly revealing to his fiancée. Soon, they will do this again, he thinks, and they will not stop until they are both naked. Will it feel the same? Will the fear be gone, knowing he has every right to touch her then?  
Somehow, she manages to finish unbuttoning her blouse at the same time as him. Molly's eyes observe him curiously. She bites her bottom lip; he trembles. He gulps when she comes closer, closer; stands in front of him.   
"I love you."  
Sherlock closes his eyes and nods. Her sweet words are intended to calm him down, to reassure him that she will not allow for them to lose their heads, and they do to some extent. Yet he inches away from her when she raises her hand. His mouth dries. She takes a step forward, he a step back. Molly can't help but giggle when he bumps into the wall.   
"Sherlock Holmes, are you scared I'll seduce you?"  
"Who would have thought I would ever wish for Mrs. Hudson and her frying pan?"  
Molly giggles again and cups his cheek with her hand. She closes the distance, lifts herself on her tiptoes and kisses him so sweetly that he relaxes a little and tilts down his head to kiss her deeper. He places a hand in the back of her head and pulls her flush against him, the roughness of her corset scratching his bare belly. They lose themselves in their kiss. Now he's glad the wall is in his back, keeping him upright. This impossibly wonderful woman weakens his knees yet again. His resolve melts with every sensual stroke of her tongue. Should she want him, he'd be hers, willingly and without regret. Molly knows that. He's her servant, her wish is his command. And he's happy, so happy. He is hers.   
He wants her mark, wants something to show the world that he belongs to the best of women.   
"Molly", he pants against her lips and when she looks at him, eyes sparkling with desire, he takes her hand and lifts it. He presses a longing kiss into her palm, eyes closed. Then he looks at her, wordlessly begging her to claim him, and places her hand on his throat. Her fingers spread and her lips part. Slowly, oh so slowly does he lead her hand down his throat. He knows she can feel his quick pulse beneath her fingertips. It quickens further when her fingertips dip into the hollow of his throat, her palm sliding under his shirt. Swallowing hard, he lets go of her then, pressing his palm flat against the powder blue wall. The control is hers now; as is his body, his heart and soul.  
"My Sherlock", Molly whispers softly, understanding him completely. One reassuring kiss on his lips, then her eyes follow the path her hand has taken. She takes a little step to the side, presses her body against his right side so he can feel her. His arm wraps around her waist as she admires the sunlight illuminating the exposed skin beneath his open shirt. Sherlock observes her closely. Her expression is pure concentration, her lips are pressed together. Her eyebrows twitch when she moves further beneath his shirt, her fingertips brushing along his clavicle, taking the fine cotton with her. Their breathing flattens as the shirt is pushed over his shoulder. Now all of his left upper body is exposed to her curious eyes. Briefly Sherlock wonders if she can see his heart pounding against his skin; a ridiculous thought, of course. Then even the ridiculous thoughts leave him when her warm palm starts moving. His eyelids flutter close and his jaw clenches. Never in his life has he been touched like this; so tenderly, curiously, like his body was the most beautiful on the planet. Beauty has never been important to him; but he wants to be beautiful for her.   
A violent shiver runs down his back when her fingers wander through his light chest hair, curling around it, gently tugging. He presses his hand more firmly against the rough tapestry.   
"It feels nice", Molly comments and continues to play with it. "Soft."  
Sherlock gulps.   
"It's almost fair. Isn't it odd, since your hair is dark?" Her eyes dart up to the dark hair on his head.   
"Then again, your eyebrows aren't very dark...does your hair get lighter further down your body?"   
She tugs at his hair again.   
"Jesus."  
Molly giggles.   
"It's fine if you don't want to answer. I'll find out soon enough."  
"Molly..." He bends down his head and captures her lips for a kiss. This combined with her little exploring hand is almost too much to bear. His head is spinning and he presses himself against the wall for support.   
"Please", he begs her now, his entire body burning with need.   
"Soon, my darling."   
Molly refocuses on his chest, her hand wandering over his pectoral muscle, obviously pleased with how it feels beneath her palm, for she gently wanders back, then forth again, only using her fingertips. Sherlock shivers.   
"I always thought you'd be hard and firm. But your skin is warm and soft; so incredibly smooth."   
As she speaks, her hand travels down, the tip of her middle finger just missing his nipple. His muscles flex when her palm brushes over his belly. Shiver after shiver runs down his back. When her fingers slide along the waistband of his black trousers, her knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of his abdomen, his hips jerk. His head falls back against the wall and he lets out a tortured puff of air. All his senses are focused on her body against his side and those wicked fingers. His skin is aflame and he's aware that his trousers are not able to hide his throbbing erection. But he can't move, not an inch, or he just knows he will throw her down and make love to her until she's just as desperate for him as he is for her. So when the back of her fingers run up and down the trail of dark hair beneath his navel, he squeezes his eyes shut, accepts that his hips jerk once more as gracefully as possible and remains frozen to the spot.   
"Hm...apparently the coloration of male body hair has nothing to do with its location on the body...It's much darker here."   
He bumps his head against the wall again, trying to fight the sensations of her teasing little fingers.  
"Molly, please...don't be cruel."  
The sweetest little giggle, then her warm lips on his throat. Sherlock groans.   
"You're so very beautiful, Sherlock", Molly whispers against his skin.   
It's too much. All of it. He wants her. Needs her. Now!  
"God, Molly. Please. I'm yours. I'm yours."  
"I know, darling. I know."  
Sherlock is panting, his nails are digging into the tapestry, leaving half-moons in the cotton. Molly trails her soft lips down his throat, leaving warm kisses and wet licks on his hot skin. When she gently sucks on the skin spanning over his clavicle, he gasps. His mouth starts whispering words of need and love, urges her to claim him, begs her. And yet she takes her time exploring his chest with her mouth, even dares to expose the right side of his chest, as well. Her hands settle on his waist as she is kissing both his pectorals now. Those small hands hold him in a tight grip and Sherlock is so grateful for it, for it anchors him to her. He felt like drowning before; drowning in pleasure and lust. He's still in deep, stormy waters, but she's the mermaid that holds him above water or breathes air into his lungs when he's pulled under. It's still dangerous, thrilling, overwhelming, frightening, but he knows he'll survive; Molly will keep him safe.   
  
However, when Sherlock feels the wet tip of her tongue shyly lick over his nipple, Sherlock's entire body spasms as if it's drowning, after all.   
"Molly! Please, I can't stand this anymore!"  
He grabs her upper arms way too hard and stares into her eyes. He knows he's on the verge of losing control and he begs her with his eyes to have mercy.   
"I'm sorry", she whispers and cups his face with both hands. Just this and her warm eyes help him to regain a little composure. When she kisses him, his tongue darts into her mouth, hungrily tasting her. His demanding licks are met with gentle, slow strokes. Molly takes his burning desire and patiently turns it into soulful longing. During their kiss, her hand is firmly placed above his heart and she keeps swallowing his hunger until it has slowed down its beat. When she finally pulls back, he feels more like himself again. He rests his forehead against hers and licks his lips.   
"I'm sorry", he says sheepishly, shame rising in him.   
"You are beautiful in your desire, Sherlock. I can't wait to be married to you."  
"It doesn't frighten you? For it does frighten me. Feeling logic slip away and being replaced with these animalistic needs...I don't like not to be in control."  
"Do you not enjoy letting pleasure take over? I love losing myself to pleasure with your arms around me."  
His eyes wander down her open blouse to the swell of her breasts.   
"Then lose yourself in my arms now, Molly."  
He pulls her into a loving embrace. They kiss deeply, but when he starts kissing down her neck, she pulls him away by pressing her palms against his chest. Back against the wall it is.   
"Soon, Sherlock. After I claimed you."  
"But-"  
"No more torture, I promise."  
He gives her a brave half smile and straightens, offering her his body. Now Molly wraps her arms around his waist and presses a long, loving kiss over his heart. And then her lips part and-  
  
Sherlock groans loudly when her sweet mouth sucks on his skin, harder and harder until thousand little currents pulse through his body, electrifying his skin, making the litte hairs on his body stand. When her teeth sink into his flesh, his hands reach for her, grasping her, holding on to her.   
"Harder", he hears himself pant, his own voice sounding foreign to him. Molly obliges him and he shudders, more electricity pulsing from her lips through his entire body.   
If her mother could see them now, it suddenly shoots through his head, the thought unwelcome. If she could see her daughter passionately making love to him, claiming him, she most probably would drop dead or scream so loud the house would collapse.  
The mental image of Mrs. Hooper watching them is chased out of his head, however, when Miss Hooper bites him again, her teeth sinking so deep it hurts. Sherlock can't help but hiss. Immediately, Molly lets his skin go, making a plopping noise.   
"I'm sorry. Are you alright?"  
Her hands run up his body to stroke his cheeks, then they wander into his neck to dip his head, make him look at her. Sherlock's eyes dart past her eyes onto his chest.   
He quivers.   
A big red spot on his bulging chest.   
  
Hers. He's hers.   
  
With a deep, satisfied growl he spins her around, presses her to the wall. He roughly pushes her blouse down her shoulders, kissing her hard.   
"You're mine", he growls against her lips.   
"And you're mine", she gasps right back, her short nails scratching over his stomach.   
His hips jerk and he moans. Locking his arms around her small frame he buries his face in her breast, marking her with strong suction and nipping teeth. Her gasps, moans and whimpers, her hands grasping his hair, are enough to drive him mad again.   
"I want you to peak for me, Molly" he grumbles against her throat, nipping at her sensitive skin.   
"Oh, Sherlock."  
His mouth wanders to her pushed up breasts, kissing and sucking at both her mounds, his tongue licking in between, her taste so bloody intense there his eyes roll into the back of his head. Instead of just once, he marks her over and over, until suddenly her nails dig into his back and she lets out a high-pitched squeal.   
"God, yes. My sweet darling."  
He enfolds her shaking body in a tight embrace, watching pure rapture cross her face. Such a divine sight. Sherlock can't get enough of it, needs to touch her beautiful face and neck, her shoulders and her back. She clings to him, whispering his name over and over again.

While her body is living through the last stage of ecstasy, she presses herself against him - and starts crying. The tears burst out of her like the other times after she had peaked. Still, it's a shock and Sherlock's heart clenches with pain. He holds her tight, gently cradling her, placing soothing kisses on her neck and shoulder until her sobs stop and she relaxes against him.   
"Dearest, I need you to tell me that you are well, that I haven't hurt you."  
A wet kiss is placed against his neck. He turns his head to look at her and strokes her cheek with the back of his hand. Her eyes are red and wet lines run down her flushed cheeks.   
"I am well. Of course I am. I don't know why I cry. It just bursts out of me, I cannot control it. It's so embarrassing. Do you...do you think it will always be like this? Will I cry every time?"  
"I don't know." He honestly doesn't. He's never heard of such a thing.   
"I'm so sorry, Sherlock."  
The look on his face must have made her worry. To calm her - and himself - he bends down to give her a long, tender kiss.   
"There is nothing to be sorry for. As long as you are not in pain or frightened-"  
"No, no, of course not. Nothing could be farther from the truth. I love making love to you. Your passion doesn't frighten me at all. On the contrary."  
A shiver runs down his spine, and yet another when she shyly runs her hands over his pale chest, her fingers circling the mark she left on him.   
The arousal is still flowing through his body, although sobered by her tears, so he covers her hands with his and pulls them to his lips, kissing each individual fingertip.   
"We should leave, Molly."  
The disappointment is clearly written on her face and her eyes linger on his exposed upper body, then on his mark.   
"Your body is beautiful, Sherlock. Thank you for letting me touch you."  
"Thank you for doing it. I-"  
He can't find words, so he simply places his fingers above the hot, throbbing mark on his skin and smiles at her.   
Molly wants to do the same and looks down. She gasps. His eyes widen as he sees the many red spots on both her breasts and even one on her clavicle.   
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry. Are you in pain?"  
Molly shakes her head, her fingers feathery brushing over each of his marks, varying in size and colour.   
"They're throbbing a little, but it's fine, I ensure you." She giggles. "Now I certainly won't forget who I belong to."  
Her smile is blinding, chasing the shadows on his heart away. She leans against him again and for a while, they just hold each other.   
"Sherlock?"  
"Hm?"  
"It was fantastic, wasn't it?"   
He can't help the chuckle.   
"Yes."  
"I can't wait to do it again."  
"Molly", he says, his voice a warning, and pulls away from her.  
  
To redress in front of each other is just as odd and exciting as undressing, as it turns out. Sherlock helps her into her jacket and she rebuttons his waistcoat while he ties his cravat.  
After he is decent again, Molly sighs and runs her hands over his front.   
"Now you're all hard and cold again...I have to admit, I prefer you soft and warm and dishevelled."  
He smiles down at her and kisses her palm.   
"Soon, darling. Every night and every morning."  
"And maybe an entire Sunday once a month?"  
"That surely can be arranged."  
Once again they sink into a deep kiss. He tells her that he loves her, then he takes her hand and leads her out of their future home. Instead of going in the carriage, they walk back to the Watsons, discussing the interior design of each individual room, their marks throbbing on their sink, hidden from the world, making them smile.

 


	11. Sweet summer days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another lovely day in the Watsons' garden. Molly has questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my "research", the place for Victorian gentleman in need of a high-class prostitute was Kensington. You'll understand as you read on. 
> 
> Also sorry for missing upload day yesterday. I'm in holiday-heaven. No work, no worries, not many thoughts. ;)

The happy squeal of three-year-old Captain Thornrose makes Sherlock look up from his resting place in Molly's lap. He smiles, watching Mary and John chase the girl across their garden. Then Molly's fingers rake through his hair again and he sinks back into his human pillow, lets out a hum and closes his eyes. Upon him opening his mouth and uttering a small little noise, a grape is placed between his lips. He sucks it into his mouth...and closes his lips around the tip of the index finger of his future wife, relishing its taste far more than that of the fruit. Molly giggles when he teases it with his tongue and pulls it away.  
"Don't be cheeky", she scolds him and strokes his hair again. He hums.  
"You truly are a cat", is Molly's comment.  
For once, Sherlock doesn't retort. He's far too content and relaxed to bicker. So he just opens his mouth for another grape. Molly flicks his cheek, but feeds him a second later. He smiles smugly as he chews, his eyes still closed, the sun shining into his face. The days are warm and sunny now and Sherlock can't remember a happier summer. The only shadow comes from not seeing Molly every day, but she makes the time they spend together even more precious. She is so caring and lovely. Mrs. Hooper is behaving and for the past weeks mother and daughter have become closer than ever. Sherlock can see how very happy it makes Molly and he is happy for her, especially since it benefits him so well.  
  
"Only two more weeks", Molly says softly, her hand entangled in his hair, the Watsons' laughter and squeals echoing through the garden.  
Sherlock smiles and holds out his hand; she slips hers into his.  
"Having second thoughts?"  
He chuckles. "No. You?"  
"No."  
"Mollilyyy!"  
Rosie storms past them and Molly laughs as she rounds the tree, chased by her mother, and runs to the wooden ship where her father helps her board it. The betrothed couple watches the ongoings for a moment.  
"Aren't you nervous?" Molly asks suddenly. Sherlock looks up at her.  
"About the ceremony? Bored, if anything. It will be a nuisance. But I'll endure it with dignity. Don't worry, I won't embarrass you."  
Her fingers play with a loose curl. Goosebumps run across his scalp.  
"I don't doubt you, love. We will both behave and smile until it is over and we are bound together by law and religion."  
He smiles. He can't wait. For a moment he loses himself in fantasies of matrimony; and nearly misses that something is wrong.  
" _You_ are nervous", he deduces and looks up at her. Her fingertips graze his scalp as she shrugs, avoiding his eyes.  
"Maybe a little."  
"About the ceremony?"  
"No...about what comes after."  
"Oh." He blinks, images filling his head. He kisses her palm. "Why? From past experience I'm confident that we will muddle through." He wants to make her laugh and is happy when he suceeds.  
"Tell me what you're nervous about", he softly instructs, his lips brushing against her skin as he speaks. Her hand cradles his face. Again, she shrugs.  
"Just the typical female anxiety to fail to please her husband, I presume."  
"Don't be ridiculous."  
When she sighs, he presses an apologetic kiss to her fingertips.  
"Darling, have you already forgotten all these stolen moments of passion? Have you forgotten that it only takes your kiss to make me lose all sense of propriety?...Have the traces of my passion on your skin already faded?"  
Her breath hikes as he whispers this last question and she bites her bottom lip, a gentle smile blossoming at the remembrance. Molly traces his cheekbone with her thumb.  
"No, of course not. Maybe it's just the fear of the unknown. I don't know what to do. Mother explained the basics, of course, but still I feel utterly unprepared...and I'm afraid you won't find me pretty..." The last part slips out in a hurried whisper.  
For a second, Sherlock is truly baffled.  
"You know beauty is irrelevant to me."  
Molly lets out a breath and looks over at the Watsons.  
  
"Yes, well, there is romantic beauty and then there is physical attraction. You might not care for the first, but the second one is a primal instinct even the great Sherlock Holmes cannot control."  
"Molly, what you are saying makes no sense at all. This fear of yours is absolutely irrational. I _am_ physically attracted to you. You know I am. Your body is beautiful and I love it because it contains the clever, kind, charming woman I adore. In our wedding night I will show you just how much. Now stop this nonesense and stroke my hair."  
As always, his childish demand makes her laugh. Of course she obliges, even if she shakes her head first.  
"I could have huge, dark birthmarks or horrible scars."  
"And I would love all of them. Now be quiet."  
She huffs and flicks his cheek. He tries to catch her finger with his teeth, but fails. She giggles triumphantly. He glares up at her, then closes his eyes. For a while, he listens to Captain Thornrose and her new crew members crossing the rough seas of the North Atlantic, Molly's finger relentlessly weaving through his dark, loosened curls.  
"Sherlock?"  
"More absurd fears to be silenced?"  
"No. A question to be answered."  
"Go ahead, then."  
"...Have you been with many women?"  
His heart skips a beat and he stiffens. Now that's a question he hasn't expected. He opens his eyes.  
"No, I haven't."  
"But you have been with some, yes?"  
"Yes."  
She nods, already knowing, and fumbles with the collar of his crisp white shirt. He can see in her face that she wants to know more; probably everything. He doesn't necessarily want to tell her. It's been meaningless.  
"W-Will you tell me with how many?"  
"Does it matter?"  
"I'm not sure."  
She looks at him for a moment and there is something in her eyes that makes him regret every single encounter he had with the opposite sex, for he wants her to be the only woman who ever touched him; like he is the only one who has ever touched her. There is something so precious about this. Now Sherlock feels...besmirched.  
  
"Three," he admits, a wave of shame washing over him, "when I came of age and my primal needs where impeding my ability to think. During two encounters I was under the influence and the first time..." his hold on her hand tightens, "I purchased in Kensington."  
He looks at her, his heart beating fast, already regretting that he's been so open. Now Molly doesn't look at him, her expression unreadable.  
"Was it...enjoyable?"  
"It satisfied a physical need. That's all I wanted out of it."  
"Was the prostitute different than the other women? Was she...better?"  
"I hardly remember the other two times. The time with her was over way faster, I think."  
"Do you remember that time?"  
"Yes."  
"Tell me about it."  
He groans inwardly. Why does he have to be honest with her all the time?  
"She took me up to her apartment, took off our clothes and...touched me. I touched her. And then she took my virginity. It was done in less than an hour."  
"How did you feel?"  
"How do you mean?"  
"Were you happy? Sad?"  
"I was satisfied. Feelings were not involved."  
"Was it odd to touch a stranger so intimatedly?"  
"Not really. She agreed, after all. I focused on the physical aspects of the female form. I was curious about breasts and...well..."  
"How does it feel to be inside a woman?"  
He closes his eyes.  
"Please, Molly. Let's not talk about this now. Once we're husband and wife, I will answer all your...intimate questions."  
"Promise?"  
"Promise."  
  
She smiles a little brighter now, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Being very sentimental, Sherlock takes her hand and places it above his heart.  
"If I had known that one day I would be in love with the most wonderful woman, I wouldn't have touched any of them. I'm sorry, Molly."  
"Please, Sherlock", she says with a slight shake in her voice, "you've broken no vow, so apologising is very irrational," she teases him. It eases the pain in his chest, "as is being jealous of women you've been with when we haven't even met."  
"There is no need to be jealous. You are the queen of my heart and body. All of me is yours, Molly."  
Her hand wanders to where she has marked him, the red almost gone.  
"Say it again."  
He does and she smiles.  
"There is no need to be nervous", she says calmly.  
"No. Our first night as husband and wife will be marvelous. I will make sure of it."  
"Your confidence is as reassuring as it is annoying, Mr. Holmes."  
  
He gives her an arrogant smile before he closes his eyes and motions her to stroke his hair again. Instead, a shadow falls over his face and he opens his eyes just in time to see hers fall close, right in front of him. He lifts his head, eagerly crossing the last inches between them. His heart beats faster as her tongue slides between his lips. Only a few feet away are the Watsons. It's indecent; it's exciting. Sherlock places a hand in her neck to deepen the kiss further. After many heartbeats, Molly pushes a hand against his chest and leans back. Sherlock sighs in protest and pulls at her neck.  
"I can't breathe."  
He lets go of her immediately and she straightens, taking a deep breath.  
"Stupid corsets", he grumbles and rolls onto his side, wrapping one arm around her waist and pressing his face into her belly; against the stupid corset.  
"I'll burn all of them as soon as you move in."  
Molly giggles and resumes to stroke his hair. Not five minutes and Sherlock is dozing off, surrounded by Molly's warmth and scent.  
  
"Yellowbeard!"  
Two bony knees jab into his side. Sherlock jerks up, croaking. Automatically his arms wrap around his goddaughter, protecting her from falling over backwards.  
"Rosie, I'm going to marry in a fortnight. Could you please try not to break me until then?"  
"Sorry, Sherly."  
As she covers his face with wet little kisses, she is instantly forgiven. Sherlock wants to move to sit next to Molly, but Rosie protest.  
"No! Lap!"  
Captain Thornrose pushes and pulls at her godfather until he is lying in Molly's lap again and she on top, both arms wrapped around his neck possessively.  
Sherlock sees the Watsons disappear inside the house, both panting and dishevelled.  
Once again, the lovers and their goddaughter are sitting beneath the tree in the Watsons' garden, holding their faces into the sun, enjoying each other's company and warmth.


	12. The meeting of the skulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three more days. Molly spends a day at Baker Street. Lovers that long for each other. Mrs. Hudson, the professional cockblocker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! Who's excited?! *squeals*

Only three days to the wedding. Molly is finally at Baker Street to unpack the four trunks which have been stacked in his bedroom for the past three days. As she informs him on her arrival, she has come directly from the church.  
"If I had known it would be so much work to organise a wedding, I would have preferred Gretna, after all. Mother is a big help, though. She delights in these things. Oh, it will be tedious, Sherlock. Two bloody hours in the church! Singing, praying, sermonising...what for? I don't understand it. Who could possibly enjoy this for two hours? This is mother's last attempt at torturing us, I'm sure. We will all be bored out of our minds and all our friends will despise us for making them sit through this. And you will probably jump up, shout that I'm not worth it, and run. And I won't even blame you! In fact-"  
That's when he silences her with a firm, deep kiss, palming her face and pressing her against the door, shutting it with her body. A thrilling shudder rushes through him when she sighs into his mouth and he hears her hat drop to the floor before she slips her hands beneath his purple dressing gown and places them between his shoulder blades to pull him even closer. Their tongues stroke slow and deep, then playfully fast until Molly smiles against his lips. Only then does Sherlock let her go.  
"What was I saying?" Molly asks weakly, her eyes glazed over. Sherlock smiles and nudges her pixie nose with his.  
"Nonesense, as usual. Now that you're finally silenced, may I greet you properly?"  
"Oh, so you were just silencing me?"  
"A man's got to do-"  
"Oh, shut up and kiss me again, you insolent man."  
He chuckles, then sinks against her once more. Their mouths melt together for a kiss full of loving tenderness.  
"Hello, my darling."  
Molly smiles.  
"Hello, my love."  
"Would you like some tea? There's cake, too."  
"Sounds lovely."  
  
They sit together on the couch, drinking tea and sharing a piece of cake. Sherlock has an arm around her, his dressing gown and her brown jacket lying on his chair, and Molly feeds them in turn. They stare into each other's eyes like the two fools in love they are, so caught up in one another that even the great Sherlock Holmes misses how Mrs. Hudson climbs the stairs and enters through the study. Her shocked gasp at the sight of Molly pushing the fork with the chocolate cake into his mouth, him looking at her in a manner only suitable for the bedroom as he closes his lips around it, makes his eyes dart to her. Molly's head snaps around and the fork hits his teeth, which makes the head snap right back, her spine cracking. It's all a big fuss as the lovers put down the plate and fork and bring some proper distance between them.  
"Sherlock Holmes!"  
"Oh, don't start, Mrs. Hudson. If you had knocked like a decent person would have, you would have been spared the shocking sight."  
"Don't you dare lecture me on decency, young man!"  
"Please don't start", Molly interrupts now and lifts her hands to end the argument before it unfolds.  
"The cake is delicious, Mrs. Hudson. Thank you very much."  
Mrs. Hudson huffs, glares at Sherlock then at Molly. A smile spreads on the housekeeper's face. Sherlock rolls his eyes. No one can stay mad at Molly with those sodding big brown eyes.  
"You're welcome, dear. How are the preparations for the wedding coming along? If you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask."  
"Oh, thank you, but my mother has everything under control. Honestly, she doesn't even want _my_ help. Not that I'm complaining. I'm not very good at these things. But I'm learning a lot. It makes me a little less anxious about running my own household."  
"Oh, you will do splendidly. When I got married I was just as nervous as you are. The first few weeks were quite chaotic, but my husband was very understanding...as Sherlock will be, I'm sure."  
She gives him a meaningful look. Sherlock only snorts and rises.  
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that will be all for the moment."  
Mrs. Hudson slaps his hand away when he pushes against her shoulder. With a hissed "Behave!" she leaves. Sherlock closes the door in the study and lets out a breath.  
  
"Once we're married, these doors will be locked at all times", he grumbles as he returns to the living room. Unfortunately, Molly has risen. He pouts, but Molly only smiles and comes to him, brushing her hands over his chest.  
"Where are you hiding my trunks, Mr. Holmes?"  
At this, he smirks.  
"In the bedroom, Miss Hooper."  
Her eyes widen...and Sherlock has the decency to be a bit bashful.  
"I couldn't store them here. Wouldn't look good in front of a client."  
"You could have stored them in John's old room."  
"Most of your clothes will be stored in the bedroom closet, anyway."  
"That's true..."  
She bites her lip and fumbles with a button of his white shirt.  
"Well then, Mr. Holmes...Why don't you show me the way to your bedroom?"  
Sherlock gulps and clears his throat. Molly's voice was way too sensual and the look in her eyes...Lord help him. But he brought that on himself, didn't he?  
So he straightens and nods and Molly smiles at him cheekily.  
"If you would follow me, Miss Hooper."  
His heart is beating a little faster as he leads the way down the narrow hallway; and his hand might be trembling ever so slightly when he turns the doorknob and opens the door to the most private room in his flat. He waits by the open door, knob still in hand, and looks at her expectantly. Smirking at him, she slowly enters, hands folded in front of her demurely. Curiosly her eyes explore the many scientific items as she walks through the room, pausing here and there to reach out to touch this and that or look more closely at a butterfly or a bug in a showcase hanging on the wall. Sherlock knew she would save the bed for last, yet his heart skips a beat when her eyes finally settle on it.  
"It's bigger than I thought it would be", she says after a moment, slowly walking towards it. Sherlock is still standing at the door, feeling warmth spreading in his gut.  
"Are you a restless sleeper, Mr. Holmes?" Molly asks teasingly, "or do you just appreciate the luxurious space?"  
"Neither. The bed was already here when I moved in. I simply didn't replace it. I don't care much for sleep."  
"Maybe that will change in...let's say three days?"  
The teasing tone in her voice and that mischievous glint in her eyes increase his heartbeat.  
"The bedding looks quite warm for summer. Aren't you...hot at night?"  
Oh, this impossible woman, Sherlock thinks desperately. She is standing next to the bed now, it separating them, and has the nerve to bend over to run her hand over the olive bedspread. Well, he wouldn't let her trump him so easily, he thinks sternly and finally lets go of the doorknob to fold his hands behind his back, taking a step forward.  
"Your concern for my health is heart-warming, Miss Hooper, but I assure you, there is no need. You see, the bedding is perfectly comfortable at night...since I sleep in the nude."  
Her eyes widen. Her lips part. A blush blooms on her cheeks. Sherlock has crossed the distance, is now standing on the other side of the bed. It would be so easy to just fall in...  
  
_Three more days..._  
  
"I see", Molly says, finding her voice. "That's quite a coincidence."  
The little nymph turns around - and sits down on his bed. With her back to him she tests the mattress with a few bounces, her hands sliding over the olive linen. Then she leans back and Sherlock's heart starts beating frantically when she is lying across his bed, her arms raised above her head, her thin white linen blouse stretching over her small mounds and the corset.  
"I sleep in the nude myself."  
Her dark eyes look up at him as she says this in the sweetest, most tempting voice, and Sherlock's knees weaken. One falls on the bed, the other is jammed against it with his foot.  
"Oh, you merciless woman", he breathes desperately and bends over, one hand supporting his weight, the other curling around her neck.  
"How will I ever find sleep in this bed again without you in it?" he whispers against her lips before he kisses her. The unsual angle requires them to adjust the movements of their tongues and the placement of their lips, but this doesn't stop them from enjoying the kiss to the fullest. A part of him wishes she would lift her arms and weave her fingers through his hair, but the sensible part of him is grateful she doesn't, well aware of the risk they are taking once again.  
  
Thank goodness Mrs. Hudson is downstairs, Sherlock thinks as he pushes his tongue into her mouth once more to tease hers. As hoped, Molly sighs and a pant of hot air hits the underside of his chin. Goosebumps spread on his neck and shoulders and heat spreads in his groin – an urgent sign to part. Reluctantly, his tongue retreats and he gives her a few, more chaste kisses before he leans back to look at her. She returns his gaze, her lips parted, her eyes begging him to join her properly. With a gentle smile he brushes the back of his fingers over her cheek; her skin is very warm.  
"You are quite the flirt, Miss Hooper. Your future husband will be serving at your feet, for sure, begging for your attention."  
A blinding smile blooms on her face.  
"I can't wait to shower him in my affections, show him how much I adore him."  
"Then he is a very lucky man."  
"I am the lucky one, sir, I assure you."  
How could he not kiss her after such a compliment? Once more he bends over, placing a long, chaste but tender kiss on her lips, whispering of the depth of his feelings before he finally rises. Molly stands up, as well. She straightens her clothes and moves to the stack of trunks, where her fiancé winds his arms around her to pull her into a gentle hug, raining little kisses on her temple before he releases her. Her cheeks are completely flushed now and Sherlock smirks. She giggles and shakes her head, then she instructs him to help her with her luggage.

  
  
Half an hour later, she opens the last trunk. Sherlock is at this moment re-entering the room.  
"John's old wardrobe is almost full. Why did you bring so many clothes, anyway? Did I not inform you that I have a 'no-clothes-policy'?"  
As it turned out, Sherlock's wardrobe is too small to hold all of Molly's clothes.  
Molly laughs.  
"You did not. I'm pretty sure I would remember such a rule. Not that I would ever agree to it with clients and Mrs. Hudson coming and going all the time."  
"There won't be clients at Wimpole Street", Sherlock says hopefully and Molly gives him a smirk over her shoulder.  
"There will be staff, Sherlock."  
"We could give them Sundays off."  
She giggles. "I'll think about it."  
Sherlock's heart jumps excitedly. Running around the house completely naked - that's quite the charming fantasy.  
"I'm happy to report there are no more dresses in the last trunk. I really don't know why Anna thought it necessary to pack all of them. What remains is undergarments, night clothes, my books and some other things that might as well be stored in here until we move into our house. Oh."  
With a warm smile and careful hands Molly lifts a glass case with a skull out of her trunk. Her father's skull. She closes the lid of the trunk with one hand and places the case on it, checking it and its content for damage. Sherlock kneels down next to her to look at Mr. Hooper's skull. It's in perfect condition. Of course Molly takes good care of it.  
"I can keep it in the trunk if you wish."  
Sensing her uncertainty, Sherlock takes her hand and presses an adoring kiss to the knuckles.  
"It doesn't bother me, Molly. You can put him on the mantle, so your father can watch over your sleep like he used to in your old room."  
Molly lowers her eyes, smiling gratefully, then glances to her father's skull.  
"Maybe he would be more comfortable in the study? There he will have Billy's company."  
Sherlock's skull, standing on the mantle in the study.  
"I'd rather not have my father witness our...marital activites."  
Sherlock looks at the dark eye sockets.  
"I understand", he says and smirks at Molly when she giggles. Giving her a hand, he helps her stand. She takes the casing and carries it into the study, placing it next to Billy, turning them until the skulls look at each other.  
"Father, this is Billy. She is a female skull Sherlock has stolen from the Parisian catacombs when he was 15, naming her before it was brought to his attention that she is, in fact, a woman. Now you get a chance to improve your rusty French, like you always wanted to."  
Molly lovingly grazes the glass with her index finger, then she introduces her father to Billy in French. Sherlock witnesses the introductions with nothing but admiration for his fiancée. He finds her imagination charming, feels the love and the longing for her father in her words. On every other person, he would have found this kind of sentiment annoying, he is certain of it. But she is the woman he loves, and he loves all of her.

  
  
Two hours later, as the sun is setting, it's time to separate.  
"One last goodbye", Sherlock whispers into her hair as he holds her in his arms in the living room. "Then we never have to part again. I can't wait, Molly. To have you here day and night, to be your husband and your lover. Molly mine..."  
She lifts her head, their lips melt together. All the tenderness he feels in his heart he pours into this kiss.  
"I love you, Sherlock. So very much."  
Their foreheads rest together, their eyes are closed. For many yearning heartbeats they simply hold each other, share the same breath, feel their warmth and inhale their scents. With every hearbeat, it becomes harder for him to let her go. Now that the wedding is only three days away, a fear that it might not happen grows in him. They've waited so long, their life together is so close...he fears if he lets her go, she might disappear. What if it all has been a dream, after all?  
  
Sherlock kisses her to prove himself that she is real. She is. Of course she is. He is being irrational and foolish. He lets her go, following her down the stairs to the front door where she turns around to kiss him one last time, long and deep and tenderly.  
"Don't forget. And don't be late. I'll be nervous enough as it is."  
He smiles and strokes her cheek, just looking at her for a long moment. When he's on the brink of carrying her back upstairs and lock her into his bedroom, he finally lets her leave. His heart aches when the door falls close. It's being dramatic. It steals his sleep that night. He lies in his bed, naked as he's been born and rolls onto his side, his hand reaching across the bed to the second pillow, thinking of his bride. Three more nights and she will truly be here, next to him, just as naked, and he will make love to her until she begs him to stop.  
  
After four long years, she will be his. And he will be hers.

Forever.

He smiles and closes his eyes, his hand remaining on her side for the rest of the night.

 


	13. Yours, forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May I introduce: Mr. and Mrs. Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, the final chapter of the second part of my feel-good fic. Thank you all so much for your support and the love you've shown for this story. It makes me incredibly happy and I'm so grateful for every kudos and every comment. Thank you!

The last light of the day falls through the windows of 221b Baker Street, the home of Mr. and Mrs. Holmes. There is already a fire burning in the bedroom, but the newlyweds are still sitting in the living room, Mr. Holmes in his chair, Mrs. Holmes in his lap. His arm is wrapped around her waist, her arm around his shoulder. She has her legs pulled up on his knees, shoeless feet tugged under his thigh. His face is resting on her shoulder. Both of them look down at their two hands on her thigh, their fingers touching, caressing, until Molly interlaces her fingers with his, her palm on top of the back of his hand. Their smiles widen when they see the simple golden wedding bands next to each other.   
"I'm yours...finally", Sherlock whispers and closes his eyes as he presses his face into the white linen of her blouse. Molly has already changed out of her wedding dress which now hung on her closet door. The first sight of her in this dress had taken his breath away. Desire surged through him and for a spilt second he imagined taking her wearing this dress, spread out on the altar, her moans and pleads echoing from the holy walls. At least he had the decency to be a bit ashamed about it. It was only for a second, after all.   
  
However, now he feels no rush to consume the marriage. Now that they are husband and wife, now that he wears the ring he still has to get used to, something inside him has calmed down. They have all the time in the world. And it's been a long, eventful day. All these people, the faces, the noises, the handshaking; it was stressful. That's why he cherishes this silence with her, Molly's weight and warmth making him feel safe and anchored to the world.   
"It was a surprisingly good ceremony. It didn't feel like two hours at all."  
"That's because it wasn't. It was an hour."  
At her look, he smirks.   
"I made a respectable donation in favour of reducing the sermonising. To the church, mind you, not the collection. I think that sums up this institution quite well, wouldn't you say?"  
Molly huffs and nods. Then she moves their hands, lets the last rays of daylight dance on their rings.  
"I love your hands. Did I ever tell you? They're so elegant; the hands of a musician."  
She lifts her husband's hand and presses his palm to her face with closed eyes. Sherlock's heartbeat stutters.   
  
Countless little kisses does she rain on his palm, his digits, his knuckles and the wedding ring, never opening her eyes. He is mesmerized by the sight of her and the love she makes him feel. Every feathery touch of her warm, ever so soft lips sends a current of electricity through his arm straight into his heart. Such tenderness fills his heart, a feeling of such depth that it reaches into his soul; a soul her light had warmed and healed in ways she would never know, he could never make her understand. Forever will he be grateful for her patience, her unwavering faith in him and most of all, her love. His eyes fall on the golden band around her finger. She really has bound herself to him, has taken his name, has put her fate into his hands. Hands she is still kissing, caressing with so much adoration. Pulling her closer with one hand, he slowly turns the one she is kissing and cups her cheek, makes her look at him.   
"I love you."  
Three words which are supposed to be the most important in his language. And yet Sherlock can't help but think them too little, too simple to communicate what he feels in his heart for this faerie in his arms, this ethereal creature. He wants to tell her that she is the most beautiful everything he has ever seen. He wants to open his chest and place her hand on his beating heart in the hopes that she will feel what is in there, only for her.   
Everything he deems good and worthy inside him is linked to her name. He wants her to know that so badly, and can find no words profound enough to tell her. Still, his wife smiles, her eyes aglow with life and love and happiness; because of him. She is happy to be his wife. This, perhaps, is the greatest gift. To be able to make her happy, he had never thought it possible. It makes him happy, so ridiculously happy. His cheeks are hurting from all the smiling he did today, ever since she pushed the wedding ring on his finger, claiming him for her and her alone.   
He his hers.   
How marvelous.   
  
"What?" she asks as his smile widens even more.   
"I'm yours. Forever."  
She smiles and wraps both arms around him, snuggles against him. His heart skips a beat when her little fingers weave through his hair, freeing it from the pomade.   
"Yes, you are. Only mine. My husband. My Sherlock."  
He can't help the happy outburst, pulling her flush against him and kissing her firmly. They hug and giggle almost like children, the happiness too much to be contained inside their hearts. It is so ridiculous, but it only makes them laugh even more. They kiss more, too, until they're breathless. Then Mrs. Holmes beds her head on his shoulder and lets him hold her until the world around them falls away.   
  
Nighttime fills the living room and all their senses are focused on each other.   
"Are you cold, my darling?" Sherlock asks softly, his lips brushing over her temple.   
"No", she replies, her hand brushing over his chest to come to rest above his heart. Sherlock closes his eyes, the weight of her hand so wonderful. Every beat of his heart sings her name and he covers her hand with his, pressing it more firmly into his skin in the hopes she will feel it.   
  
Their lips find each other for another, tender kiss. Then Molly rises, Sherlock only letting her out of his arms reluctantly, but when she pulls at his hand, his heart starts beating faster.   
Silently, Molly leads him down the hallway through the door into his bedroom, where their bodies will become one.

Sherlock's heart skips a beat.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, before you lynch me, let me speak. I know this is short and I know there is no shennanigans. 
> 
> I was thinking about posting the wedding night in this story (almost ten thousand words, lol), but personally I think the consumation of the marriage belongs in the third part of the Victorian!AU. The title is "Being Married to Molly Holmes".   
> The thing is, though, this third part is not finished. I'm only a week into their marriage. But there is a lot of smut...mostly smut...*coughs*
> 
> I hope you agree that we leave this second part as it is and move on. I feel a bit bad that I'll probably run out of chapters and there will be a point when I can't update regularly, but this way you can inspire the plot if you have some ideas. 
> 
> So, again thank you for reading and look out for the next story in this timeline, which I will post on Saturday. :)


End file.
